


Shanshu

by DragonsPhoenix



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Jossverse
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Amnesia, F/F, F/M, Gen, Kidnapping, POV Alternating, POV Female Character, POV Original Character, POV Outsider, Post-Chosen, Post-Series, Temporary Amnesia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-28
Updated: 2015-09-13
Packaged: 2018-02-23 01:16:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 48
Words: 54,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2528642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DragonsPhoenix/pseuds/DragonsPhoenix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spike shanshu's because of his sacrifice in "Chosen."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Love's Bitch

**Author's Note:**

> Some of the text taken from the BtVS episodes “First Date” and “Chosen.”
> 
> Nominated at the 2015 [Willowy Goodness Awards](http://wga.hairy-eyeball.com/index.html). 
> 
> Nominated at the 2015 [SunnyD Awards](http://sunnydawards.dragonydreams.com/index.html). 
> 
> Nominated in the 2016 [Willowy Goodness Awards](http://wga.hairy-eyeball.com/index.html) for Best Spike/Willow fic. 
> 
> Runner-up in the [2016 Willowy Goodness Awards](http://wga.hairy-eyeball.com/2016winners.html) for Best Spike/Willow fic. 

The house was quiet, finally. All it had taken, to get the quiet, was staying up until three AM. Buffy sat alone on the couch. The lights were on around her. They'd found rooms for everyone – Willow, Xander, Giles, the girls, even Spike – so she wasn't keeping anyone up. Plus she didn't like the dark so much anymore. 

When Spike walked in, she turned her head away but then turned it back, staring forward and not at him. She knew she wasn't being fair but the way he'd looked at her, in the basement, after they'd saved Xander … She wasn't being fair. Spike had told her he loved her, but she hadn't believed it until that night, the way he'd looked at her, the way he'd reached out to her before she'd startled away. And she saw how he'd looked after, that hurt look, the same one he was giving her now.

“Did anybody tell you about what happened around here tonight?” he asked.

“Willow did,” she replied. “The First is back in the mix.”

“It, uh, it talked to the little boy. Said it wasn't time for me yet.” He turned to look as if seeking her approval. “I should move out. Leave town before it is time for me.”

Her life would be so much easier if he left. “No, you have to stay.”

“You've got another demon fighter now.” 

Another? Oh, he meant Wood. She couldn't talk about his feelings, not now. “This is going to be bad, worse than anyone else knows. I need all my fighters.”

“Some of us are lovers, not fighters, pet. Well, no, I'm definitely a fighter.”

“Best one I've got.” He looked pleased at that. 

“But, luv.” He took her hand in his.

She pulled her hand away. “I don't want you, Spike. I don't love you. With what the First is doing to you, I'm not sure I can even trust you. But I do need you.”

“Because I can fight?”

“Yes.”

“And nothing more?”

“Nothing more,” she whispered. “If you can't deal with that, then go.”

“Right.” He stood. Oh shit, he was leaving. Maybe that was for the best. Maybe he'd survive after the First had destroyed them all. “Night then.”

She waited until the basement door closed behind him. “Night.” It would have been easier if he'd left, but she needed all her fighters. It was good that he'd stayed. Maybe if she kept telling herself that, she'd believe it.

* ~ * ~ * ~ * 

Buffy'd had that preacher under control. There'd been no need for Angel to step in. Honestly, what the bloody hell did he think he was doing? And the kiss … well, there'd been no need for that. Spike could have yelled out a warning before the preacher smashed a statue into Angel's head. He didn't. The git deserved it for showing up at the last minute when he wasn't wanted. 'Course Angel did miss the whole fight. That was almost worth the price of admission. 

“OK, now I'm pissed. Where is he?”

Buffy looked at the two halves of the preacher and giggled. “He had to split.”

The First, posing as Buffy, whispered in Spike's ear. “Yeah, she needs you real bad.”

“As a matter of fact, I believe she does.” Spike stepped out from the shadows and lit a cigarette. “Slayer.” He blew the smoke in Angel's face. “Ponce.”

“Spike, what are you doing here?” And damn but that brooder could whine.

Spike nodded toward Buffy. “Watching her back. What about you Mr. Johnny-come-after-the-nick-of-time?”

“I have info.” Angel nodded toward the manila envelope. “And this.” He pulled out an amulet, a 2-inch diameter round crystal pendant in a silver starburst setting hung from a coarse silver chain. Gods but it was gaudy.

“Nice. Very tasteful.”

“Spike.” Buffy's voice had a snap to it. “Play nice.”

“Yeah, Spike,” Angel smirked. “Play nice.”

“What is it?” Buffy asked Angel. Of course she didn't bother to admonish him. 

“I don't know everything. It's very powerful and probably very dangerous. It has a purifying power, a cleansing power, possibly scrubbing bubbles. The translation is, uh—anyway, it bestows strength to the right person who wears it.”

“And the right person is?”

“Someone ensouled, but stronger than human. A champion. As in me.”

“Or me,” Buffy replied.

“Or me,” Spike added. Buffy and Angel both turned and stared. “What?”

“Not you.” 

Spike could see the doubt in Angel's eyes. He wanted to impress the girl, yeah, but the amulet was dangerous – who knew what it'd do – and Angel wanted to be around after he'd impressed the girl. “Buffy, give us a minute pet.”

“Give you a minute?”

“We don't need a minute,” Angel said. “I'm wearing it and that's that.”

“Be a good girl,” Spike added. “Run along.”

Buffy's knuckles whitened on the Scythe. “Right. I'll be at home because I have an apocalypse to prevent. If you two kill each other I'll kick your asses from here to eternity.”

“Buffy,” Angel called out.

She turned at the door. “You two talk. Work out this … whatever.” And then she was gone.

“What was that?” Angel asked.

“She doesn't want you to wear it,” Spike told him.

“What? Buffy? Yes she does.” Angel did not look amused. 

“The amulet, you said it's dangerous.”

“Yeah, and I'm her champion.”

“She doesn't want a dead champion.”

Angel's eyes shifted at that. “There's nothing to say I'll end up dead.”

“Five'll get you ten the person wearing that ends up dead, well, deader.”

“You want her. That's what this is, isn't it? Well she kissed me.”

“Yeah, yeah, saw the tongues.”

“You think you can wear the amulet, be the champion, and get the girl.” Damn but Angel had a one track mind.

Spike dropped his cigarette to the floor. “You don't get it. This isn't about you or me. This is about Buffy, about what she needs. And after this is all over? She's gonna need you as in you're not a pile of ashes swirling in the wind.” Spike plucked the amulet from Angel's hand. “I'm seeing she gets what she needs.”

* ~ * ~ * ~ * 

Stumbling backwards, Spike felt a warmth on his chest, just a bit above his heart. He grabbed the amulet but dropped it again. His hand was burned where he'd touched the pendant. “Buffy!”

“Spike?”

He froze as a blue light shot out from the amulet, punching a hole through the stone, through the high-school, and up to the sky. Orange light shot back down, into the amulet, and then out into the cavern, dusting Turok-Han. The ground started shaking as Buffy ran up.

“I can feel it, Buffy.”

“What?”

“My soul. It's really there. Kind of stings.”

She wasn't moving. The cavern was crashing in around them and she wasn't moving. “Go on, then.”

“No. No, you've done enough. You could still …”

“No, you've beat them back. It's for me to do the cleanup.”

Angel called out from the stairway. “Buffy, come on!”

Buffy looked up to Angel and then back to Spike. “I …”

“Go on.”

Buffy ran, almost on Angel's heels as they raced up the stairs. 

The heat was getting worse. Spike wasn't sure how much longer he could stand it. He'd always been wild, reckless, practically a kamikaze about some things. Never thought he'd last this long. Never thought he'd go out on the side of the white hats, but he'd always been love's bitch, always doing stupid … Shit that hurt. Wouldn't be long now. Wouldn't be long …


	2. Ballad of the Blooming Onion

Catching sight of Morgan through the wide windows of the cafe, Will turned his attention back to the interior of The Sunflower. It was a mistake. The pale green walls, decorated with a banner of sunflowers, created a cheerful environment that Will, seemingly by instinct, found contrary to a poetry venue. Expecting dingy walls and smoke-filled rooms, Will had learned long ago to stare out the window until his subconscious caught up with the bright and outgoing reality of the space. 

Will, startled by the disjoint between what he expected and what he saw, didn't move quickly enough. Morgan stepped through the doorway and slapped Will on the shoulder. “So what can we look forward to tonight. A paean to a hamburger? A sestina on the virtues of Coca Cola? An ode to french fries?”

Morgan, with a cowlick he couldn't keep down, heavy framed glasses, rumpled t-shirt – something called Mothra this week – jeans and sneakers looked, to Will, more of a nerd than a poet. Will kept the supposed discrepancy to himself. His friends had told him, many times in Jess' case, that he was too formal. Good manners eased awkward situations like grease eased a squeaking wheel, but his friends, indeed almost everyone he knew, didn't seem to mind awkwardness. Some seemed to revel in it. 

“Hey, I brought food boy with.” Morgan flopped down into a chair while Will nodded at the two ladies. Jess, the more outgoing of the sisters, raised an almost empty beer in welcome while Ash grinned back with an accepting smirk. When he'd first found, or more likely rediscovered, poetry, what he'd seen as little more than common courtesy had been seen as a mockery of manners to those around him. They'd been shocked to discover he hadn't meant to appear satirical and Ash had worked with him for weeks to tone down his presentation. Ash was still amused by the remnants of formality that he couldn't quite make himself do without. Blooming onions were a delight to prepare, even after four years. Morgan, jaded buffoon that he was, had no joie de vivre. Worse, he resented anyone who did. 

Chopping onions, eyes sting as if splashed with Holy Water. Granted it was an odd metaphor, one that Will didn't quite understand although it had been a hit with the poetry crowd. Carol had raved and rambled on and ended up talking about sex and death but she did that with everything so Will wasn't sure that said much. Still it hadn't been a bad poem. Morgan was a dick though for bringing it up. As he returned to the table, Will grinned at the thought. He doubted he'd every say anything like it in public, but in the privacy of his own mind the mild vulgarity did amuse.

The evening went as they usually did. None of the poetry was brilliant but some was good enough. Some was downright awful and to make it worse Morgan blamed Will for Buzzcut's rendition of “I hate the horrid toilet bowl.”

“You opened that door with your cooking the blooming onion poem.”

Will had felt the blush spreading across his cheeks. “I certainly didn’t expect anyone to write about that!”

Another poem Will as never going to live down and this one wasn't even his. Closing time came as a relief. “We're fine to get home on our own,” Jess had announced, forestalling Will's offer of an escort. He'd lost count of how many times it had been explained to him: women power, independence, no pedestal. He understood his offer was unwelcome but it felt wrong to allow two ladies of his acquaintance to walk home alone. 

Blue and red lights flashed from across the street. “What are the badges up to, then?”

“The what?” Jess asked.

Badges, Will thought. Coppers. Pigs. Policemen. Officers of the law. His mind did this occasionally, came up with unexpected and coarse associations. It had led him, more than once, to wonder what sort of man he'd been before he'd lost his memories. 

There was a man, arms handcuffed behind his back, being led to a police car. He had an eyepatch. Will noticed that right off, then the dark hair. The man stared straight at him. “Spike?”


	3. In the Jailhouse Now

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for a prompt at Taming the Muse: elevate
> 
> I found a definition of elevate that means [to rob](http://dictionary.reference.com/browse/elevate?s=t).

From the top of the three steps, as Will glanced down at the crowd bursting out from the sidewalk into the street, a flash of something that must be a memory showed him another scene, an even denser crowd, teens mostly, and his brain supplied a phrase: mosh pit. And then he was back, returned from that not-memory, standing slightly above the crowd and staring at the man who'd called him Spike. “Fuck it.” He shoved through the crowd, ready to let his elbows fly – and where had he learned that trick? – but tricks apparently picked up in a mosh pit weren't needed here. The crowd wasn't as dense as he kept thinking it was. Even so, by the time he cleared the crowd, the tira (police car, Mexican slang) had pulled away. 

As Will stared at the retreating car and wondered why he thought he could catch it if he ran after, a voice called from behind him. “Will?”

Ash was standing a good ten feet away and he wasn't sure if it was simple prudence or if she was mocking him. The first time she'd snuck up on him, well, there'd been a bloody nose and his hand had ached for two days. 

“He knew me.”

She stepped closer and stared down the street where he'd been staring but she wasn't looking for a car. She was scanning people. “Who?”

“Some guy. Didn't recognize him but I wouldn't, would I? Fuzz dragged him away.”

Morgan and Jess, having made their way more sedately through the crowd, caught up. “What's going on?”

“Some felon recognized Will.”

“Thank you, Ash.” He didn't mean to snap but nobody had known him, not for six years. 

Morgan didn't seem to get it, but Jess caught on. “Recognized as in from before your amnesia?”

“Looks like,” Will said. 

“What'd'ya mean, felon?” Morgan asked.

“The police took him away, or at least that's what Will told me,” Ash replied.

“Might not mean anything,” Will said. “People get picked up for all kinds of things. Could have been mistaken identity.”

“Hey,” Morgan shouted out. “Anybody got info on that guy hauled away by the cops?”

It caught the attention of a half-dozen suited youngsters. “Killed somebody, man.” 

“No way, it was a fight but nobody died.”

“I think he was a pimp. I saw a couple of girls hightailing it out of here.”

“Bloody wonderful.” Will shook his head. “He couldn't have just elevated a pub.”

“Will,” Jess said. “English please.”

“That was English.”

“Elevated a pub?” she asked.

“Robbed?” he replied. Lovely, another bit of felon slang only he was familiar with. 

“So, what are you going to do?” Ash asked.

“Try to find him, I guess.”

“Won't do you any good,” Morgan said. “He's being processed. We're way past visiting hours at the jail.”

“Come hang with us,” Ash offered. “Give yourself a chance to wind down before heading home.”

“Thanks, but no.” 

“Will, much as I hate to admit that my sister is right, this is big. You sure you don't want company. You sure you want to cog this on your own?”

Will gave her a wry grin. “Won't be on my own.”

“Where are you?” Ash started. Then she caught on. “Millay? Are you sure?”

“She'll be up,” Will said with a shrug. 

“And she can hack into the PD's system,” Jess added.

Morgan snorted. “She probably already has.”

“LAPD? I bet she hacks their system as a warm-up.”

“Was counting on that,” Will replied.


	4. Hacking

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Taming the Muse prompt: sordid

The building had been abandoned. Will had seen pictures of gutted rooms and windows nailed shut with wood planks, but that had been thirty years ago. Now the wooden floors were smooth, the handrails stained to a dark cherry color, and the entryway was covered, floor to ceiling, with mosaics. To Will's left, women dark of skin and hair, wearing brightly colored shawls, gathered lilies – the flowers towering over them. To his right, men plowed the living earth, not with trucks or oxen, but with the strength of their own limbs. Above the sun danced with the moon in a pale blue sky. 

Inside the entryway, in the open space at the bottom of the stairs and before the elevators, the old man waited for him. On his black t-shirt, the words Agnostic Front Skinhead circled around a pair of kick-ass boots. Everyone called him Webb although Will, asking around, had been told his Christian name was John. Webb had been one of the original tenants, part of the group that had reclaimed the abandoned building back in the 80's. 

While Millay and her friends claimed Webb didn't spend all his time in the foyer, every time Will stopped by, there he was, standing at the base of the stairs, smoking a cig. “Buckets of Blood, man.”

“I beg your pardon?” Will had tried ignoring the man, but Webb continued to speak to him. Eventually it had just seemed rude to ignore someone who was so persistent. 

“Buckets of Blood, showing on the home screen. You in?”

“Thank you, but I have business … I'm here to see Millay.”

Rather than waiting for the elevator with Webb standing right there, Will took the stairs up to the seventh floor. Vines of ivy, painted on the walls, led his way. He rapped on the door, drumming out a quick rat a tat tat. Millay's skin, pale for California, back-lit by the bluish glow of her computer terminal, glimmered with an almost unnatural sheen. As usual she seemed to have run her fingers through her ash-blonde hair in lieu of using a brush. Will, who hadn't been expecting her to answer so quickly, let his hand drop to his side. Most nights she was so hooked into the Net that he'd have it'd take a good five or ten minutes of banging for her to come around. 

“Morgan called,” she said, answering his unasked question. 

Morgan? “What'd he tell you?” Bugger, the ass was probably having a field day with this piece of news. 

“That there's someone who knew you from before.”

“That's it?”

“And that you want info on him, but I could have worked that part bit out for myself.”

“Thanks.” He knew she'd help but that she'd put aside her daily hacking routine to make time? He hadn't quite expected that.

“Hey, it's a big deal, knowing who you are, being rooted in your past. So, tell. What do I have to work with?”

“Outside The Sunflower, about forty-five minute ago. Hauled in by the fuzz. Dark hair, about my height maybe, eyepatch. Sort of hard to miss.”

She'd shown him a bit about computers, while they were still an item, but his hunt and peck method with the keyboard had driven her up the wall. It was a mystery to him, how her fingers could fly so and still hit the right keys. “Here he is. Alexander LaVelle Harris.” It was him alright. Will ignored the text on the screen for the picture. 

“That was quick.” He could feel himself grinning at her. Smart women, they got to him every time. 

“Oooh, you do know how to pick 'em.”

“What's that?”

“Picked up for suspected assault. Your old buds seem rather sordid.”

Yeah, it wasn't as encouraging as it could be. “When can I get in to see him?”

“You can't.”

“Can't? But I've never found anyone else who knows whom I used to be.”

She waved a hand at him. “I know, I know, but he's already out. Somebody must have woken up a judge to get him out at this time of night. No, wait.” Dark words danced across the screen like spiders. “Ha! It's another hacker. Damned good too. Took advantage of a discrepancy in the reports: no body. This'll take a while. You gonna stay?”

“Hell, yeah.” Racks of computers filled the room. Will had never understood why she needed more than one but had learned not to ask. He sat down on the floor, knees raised to chest, and waited to see what Millay's searching would find.


	5. Ream Swag

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: With help from the [Victorian Slang glossary](http://www.tlucretius.net/Sophie/Castle/victorian_slang.html).
> 
> Note: I really keep meaning for Will and Xander to meet in the next chapter, but it keeps not happening. Fingers crossed for the next installment.
> 
> Taming the Muse prompt: back alley

The arrhythmic clacking coming from Millay's keyboard was somehow soothing.A search-and-rescue crew had found Will outside of the sinkhole that had once been a California town. His bluejeans had held a wallet and papers identifying him as William Pratt, a naturalized citizen. If Charlie, one of the gentlemen who'd found him hadn't taken pity and given him a home, Will didn't know where he might have ended up. He'd been surprised to find himself living with a woman. At first he'd thought Millay must have been married to either Charlie or the roommate Dave but she had her own bedroom and, in fact, had turned out to be Charlie's cousin. Will had discovered himself, learned his own interests and habits, with the sound of Millay's clattering keyboard as background music. To this day the sound of a keyboard made him feel safe, comfortable, at home. 

He didn't quite doze off but he also wasn't completely awake when he heard Millay speak. “Well, isn't this interesting.”

There was a bio of one Alexander LaVelle Harris spread out across the computer screen. The picture matched the guy he's seen being hauled off by a pair of coppers. Nothing leapt out as important. “What?”

Millay pointed to a line of text. “He comes from Sunnydale.”

Sunnydale. “Shit.” When Millay raised an eyebrow in inquiry, Will elaborated.“Found him, someone who knows me that is, and lost him all in one night.”

“Your luck does seem to be running bad.”

“What else does it say?”

Millay's finger skimmed over a couple of lines. “After Sunnydale collapsed, he spent two years in Africa. There's not much data from that period. He used his credit card intermittently, as in months apart between purchases.”

That didn't sound good. “He was deliberately not leaving a trail.”

“Looks like.”

Will turned away from the screens. “So after five years the first guy who knows me is dragged off by the cops like a back alley barber and has spent two years doing something highly illegal in Africa.”

“Back alley barber?”

Will drew his finger across his throat. 

“Ah, Sweeney Todd,” she said, nodding her understanding. “There was no body.”

“There were some girls. Maybe they carried it off.”

“Unlikely,” Millay said. “A couple of girls carting off a corpse during happy hour? Even if they could carry it, someone would have seen them.”

“Anything else?”

“Going by his credit card, he's staying at a Marriott.”

“You know where he is?”

She nodded. “Street cameras have him entering the hotel about an hour ago. The question is do you want to meet him?”

He did, but he didn't. The few glimmers of messages from his past-self were mixed. When he'd been found he'd been wearing jeans and a black t-shirt but it had been months before he'd felt even remotely comfortable in such casual attire. His almost fluorescent hair had seemed terribly unnatural and, indeed, he'd been relieved when his natural color began to reveal itself. He preferred a level of formality that almost seemed out of time and yet he knew slang, criminal words, not just in English but from languages from around the world and also not just current but going back over a hundred years. That last bit had given him hope. Perhaps he'd been a professor or a researcher of some sort. That seemed unlikely given what they'd learned about this Mr. Harris. Could he live without ever knowing whom he'd been? “You have no idea what it's like, not knowing who you are.”

“That's a yes then.”

He was surprised to realize it was a yes. 

She held up something small and metallic. “You're not going in alone.”

He thought about action movies and what happened to men caught wearing wires. “I'm not sure that's wise.”

“You going to arrange to meet him someplace public?”

God but that was a good idea. “I can't guarantee it.”

“Then I'm listening in.”

He nodded his acceptance. “I should get going then.”

“Will, it's four in the morning. Normal people aren't up at this hour.”

“But he's not, is he, normal that is. Besides, with the crushers on the know, he might just lavender off. If I don't catch him now, I might miss him.”

As she handed him the bug, Millay blinked at him as if processing what he'd said. Will reviewed his words. Oh. Crusher. Lavender. British slang. 19th century. Very lower class. 

Time and past time to find out who he'd been.


	6. Cruel Game

“Honesty is the cruelest game of all, because not only can you hurt someone – and hurt them to the bone – you can feel self-righteous about it at the same time” – Dave Van Ronk (American folk and blues Singer, Guitarist and Song Writer, 1936-2002)

Golden light, spilling out through the glass walls of the Marriott, looked like hope. Will walked past, to where the light turned blue, and then crossed over to a darkened street. What had he been thinking? They weren't about to let him in, not at this hour, not without calling up first. And then what? Harris might bugger off. Hell, for all Will knew, Harris might call the boys in blue. Will couldn’t risk it. They had to meet, face-to-face, tonight, before he lost this chance forever. 

Will turned and looked back toward the hotel. He'd have as much luck forcing his way into an armed fortress as he'd have sneaking in there. The doors, those that were locked, were alarmed, and all the entrances were watched through security cameras. If he tried to storm the gates, they'd send him packing; if he tried to sneak in, they'd catch him and cart him off. What he needed was a distraction. All he had was himself. 

His cell started playing in his back pocket. Oh yeah, sneaking into this place, that would have worked. He couldn’t even remember to turn off the damn phone. It was the ringtone Millay, who'd set up his phone for him, had picked for herself. The lyrics seemed to be some sort of computer in-joke. “Hello. I know that you're unhappy. I bring you love and deeper understanding.”

Will waved toward the security feed as he answered. “Yeah?”

“Give it a couple more minutes.”

He raised one eyebrow and waited. 

“No need to thank me. Here it comes in three, two, one.”

Will felt a whoosh of speed like wind bursting past to either side and then a girl before him leapt up as her skateboard flipped into the air. She landed on the ground, grabbing the skate in one hand. She was a little thing, so scrawny Will would have thought she hadn't eaten in a week if he didn't know her. “Joan? What are you doing here?”

Her hand reached out and punched his shoulder. “Repaying a debt.”

He knew what she meant, but she was wrong. There was no debt between them. He'd simply done the right thing, the gentlemanly thing. When he first met Joan, she'd been one of Charlie's strays, tiny enough that she'd looked little more than a kid, all long limbs and eyes bigger than they should be. Will, who'd benefited from Charlie's generosity himself after he'd been found with no memory along the side of the road, had naturally offered his own room. Yeah, he'd been paying rent by then but you didn't leave little girls sleeping on the couch even if they were older than they looked. The offer and the fact that he'd backed it up by taking the couch himself had done him a good turn. It seemed Millay had liked what he'd done. He'd moved into her room shortly thereafter. “It worked out,” was all he said. 

There was a glimpse of movement from behind her. “Still, you did right by me and now we're here to do right by you.” She stepped aside, revealing a good dozen or more kids, teens and up, darting about on skateboards in front of the hotel. 

As he watched three skated on into the lobby. “I don't want to get your friends in trouble.”

“Then you need to get where you're going so we can be gone before the cops show up.” With that she skated off to join her friends, waving back at him as she glided into the lobby. 

Millay's voice sounded through the cell. “Go. Now.” 

“Right. Thanks.”

The skaters gliding and darting about the lobby had created such a chaotic mess – at least to Will's eyes although it couldn't be complete chaos since they didn't crash into each other – that the receptionist didn't seem to even notice Will much less try to stop him. As he rose in the elevator, Will turned his thoughts to the man in room 805. Will could pound on the door all he wanted but would this Harris guy let him in? 

The hallway was dead quiet. Will stopped and traced one finger over the numbers. Could Harris tell him whom he'd been? Would he? Only one way to tell. Will rapped his hand against the door. After about a minute there was a thump like that of a head hitting the other side of the door. It came from about head height at least. “Open up,” Will said. “Please.”

The door opened and Harris was standing there, eyepatch and all, in sweats and a t-shirt. His hair, standing up in untamed patches, suggested Will had woken him. “Get out of Africa, they said. Relocate to LA. It's practically home, they said, as if that made for a compelling argument. Why the hell I listened … Sure Angel's left town but now, suddenly, Spike's here, a Spike who's supposed to be dead but I guess I should have known better because when does anybody stay dead.” 

Will didn't speak. Harris had called him Spike. Harris did know him. Standing there in the bright lights of the hallway, Will wondered if he shouldn't just turn and run. Harris, there in that dim room, could tell him of his past but what if it wasn't something he wanted to know, what if it was as dark and murky as Harris' room? 

Harris gave him a long look-over. “Like the look. Very non-threatening.”

Non-threatening? What did that mean?

“I'm not inviting you in.”

Will's words, the one he spoke to Millay earlier that evening, came back to him: You have no idea what it's like, not knowing who you are.

“Although I guess that won't necessarily keep you out. I mean, hotels, not covered by that whole need an invitation rule are they?”

“I'm not going away.”

Harris rolled his eye toward Heaven as if asking for patience. “You couldn't have come some other time, oh I don't know, possibly high noon when the sun's shining all bright and deadly?”

Was this some type of criminal code? Deadly sunlight? Granted, skin cancer was an issue but that didn't seem to be what Harris meant. 

Harris stepped away from the door with a sigh. “Fine, Fangless, come in. You are still fangless, right? Or should I have asked that before the invite?”

Will wasn't sure what Harris was going on about but he wasn't blocking the door so Will went in. It was a typical bland hotel room. The bedding was rumpled, but Will had already figured he'd woken the man. 

Harris started in again before Will had worked out what to tell him. “I don't forgive you. I never will. Buffy won't either if that's why you're here. We put up with you because she needed you but that's over and done with. From here on out, we're quits.”

“Forgive me?”

“Not happening, pal.”

“Why would you need to … What did I do?”

Harris' barking laughter had a bitter bite to it. “You still don't get it, do you? Buffy, bruised and bloody on the bathroom floor. Ring a bell?”

Buffy. Harris had mentioned that name before. He'd said _she_ needed you. She. Will could barely stammer out the words. “I hit a woman?”

“Hit? Try rape.”

Harris' words hit him like a punch to the gut. Rape? Will bolted for the door. As he hit the stairwell, he heard Harris call out, something about a mirror, but Will didn't stop to listen.


	7. Reflections

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After the previous chapter I was asked why Xander's reaction was so extreme so I came up with some backstory for Xander and Willow.

Spike had killed two Slayers. Xander could picture them, well, no, he couldn't because he didn't know the details and yet he could. He'd seen so many dead Slayers, girls new to their calling, Watcherless, alone, outnumbered. Maybe no one got the credit when it was dozens against one. Maybe Spike still had the high-count for Slayer kills. Xander wished the vampire away. The conservative look – pinstripe shirt and khakis – as well as a return to what must be his natural hair color didn't make Spike any less undead. “Like the look. Very non-threatening.” 

The bastard couldn't even be bothered to snark back.

“I'm not inviting you in.” Damn. He should just slam the door shut. He shouldn’t have opened it in the first place. Not that a closed door would keep Spike out. Vampire here. Easy enough for him to break it down and then who'd be stuck paying the bill. Not the evil undead, that's for sure. 

“I'm not going away.”

LA had been promoted as Xander's chance to get away, to leave the deaths behind, as if they could be left behind. LA had been uneviled. There'd been an evil law firm but the portal to its senior partners had been closed, leaving behind, Xander imagined, a law firm that was slightly less evil. All this meant that LA should have been a plum assignment, almost a vacation. It hadn't been and now Spike was here. “You couldn't have come some other time, oh I don't know, possibly high noon when the sun's shining all bright and deadly?”

Knowing he shouldn't, Xander invited the vampire in. It wasn't as if he could keep Spike out. Vampires could walk into hotel rooms. He turned his back and walked into the room first, acting as if Spike weren't a threat but he wasn't nearly so sure. Spike should have been ashes in the wind. He wasn't. What did that mean for the chip? Could Spike kill him now? Xander found it hard to care. Too many Slayers would be alive now if he hadn't been the one sent to save them. Once upon a time Spike had helped save the world. Well, once upon a time was a hell of a long time ago. Xander didn't forget what Spike really was. “I don't forgive you. I never will. Buffy won't either if that's why you're here. We put up with you because she needed you but that's over and done with. From here on out, we're quits.” 

“Why would you need to … What did I do?” 

You killed. Xander wanted to shout the words but that hadn't been Spike, at least not recently, and that wasn't fair. “You still don't get it, do you? Buffy, bruised and bloody on the bathroom floor. Ring a bell?” 

“I hit a woman?” 

For one wild moment the floor seemed to give way from beneath Xander's feet. Spike didn't get it. Of course he didn't, evil, but how could he not know what he'd done? “Hit? Try rape.”

Spike stumbled through the entryway, that narrow hall between the mirrored closet and the bathroom, and landed with a thump against the door. Just for a moment, before Spike darted out of the room, Xander could see two of him: Spike in the room and Spike in the mirror. 

“Hey.” Xander chased after but Spike was gone. “How did you … mirror … vampires don't reflect …” 

Spike had become human? Oh, shit. 

* * * 

Xander called Willow. Yeah, maybe Giles or Buffy should be his first call in the case of apocalypsey goodness, but Willow had been his best friend forever. His first call would always be to her.

“This better not be some sort of whimsy.” 

So his timing kind of sucked. “Uh, Will?”

“I mean it, Mister. If this isn't at least life threatening, I'm hanging up.”

“Apocalypse or bootie call?”

“Xander.” She spluttered into the phone. “I would not blow you off just for … well, okay, maybe I would, but she's a gymnast. I didn't even know a body could be that bendy.”

“Aaaaand I don't want to know. Well, yeah, actually I do but that's not why I called.” Gymnast. So she'd given Diego the boot. He couldn't say he was surprised. When Kennedy had worked out that Willow had been doing the naughty with some kind of snakey demoness, well, that fight had made apocalypses look peaceful. Apparently Kennedy wasn't big on second chances. Willow had given up on Kennedy years ago, at least as far as Xander knew, but she'd also given up on long-term white picket fence relationships.

“Nightmares again?”

Nightmares. A corpse left sitting up, looking as if it were still alive. They'd known he was coming. They'd known he'd find the body. A whole family torn to pieces. Grisly bits he couldn't identify. “No.” He couldn't wish for a simple nightmare, especially since his nightmares weren't simple, but this … wasn't good. “You remember when you took away Angel's chance to shanshu?”

“I didn't take it away. He voluntarily gave it up.”

“Okay, so not the point. Remember how we thought that whole shanshued vampire apocalypse prophecy had been averted?”

“Sure, I mean, if there is no shanshued vampire then demons can't use the shanshued vampire to end the world, because he's, like, not there as in not shashued.”

“We forgot about Spike.”

There was a long moment of silence before Willow spoke. “Xander, honey? Spike's dead, well deader, dusted.”

“That's what I thought until he waltzed into my hotel room. Oh and guess what. I saw his reflection.”

“Xander, are you saying Spike's human?”

“Looks like.”

“Oh, by Ishtar's round firm tits.”

“That's what I said,” Xander replied, “but with less tits.”


	8. Last Night

There was a phone, its receiver heavy in her hand. Willow placed it down on the phone carefully, very gently, as she stared through the window. Water roiled in the river below her, turgid under the drab morning light. Allegheny, Monongahela, or Ohio. There were three rivers but she could only see one. She never could tell them apart. 

“By whose round firm tits? Should I be jealous?”

Willow turned back to the room, combination bedroom and living space like pretty much any hotel room she'd ever been in. She turned back to the bed and to the woman on it. Dianne, her name was Dianne, from the Cabaret at Theater Square. The coven's Seer had insisted Willow use the ticket, saying something about needing to relax. Willow had relaxed all right, into skin as warm as a Caffè Mocha and lips as sweet as sin. “Ishtar. She's a Babylonian goddess, so no jealousy required. It's unlikely I'll ever meet her.”

Although given the way Willow's life went, who was to say whom Willow would or wouldn't meet? But she wasn't going to meet anyone if the whole world went boom. 

“Spike's human? What was he before?”

Why'd she always pick smart ones? Oh, wait, she knew that, because the dumb ones didn't figure out the wham, bam, thank you ma'am until Willow was just this side of scarping out the door. “You aren't upset I said you're a gymnast?”

Dianne rose from the bed, wrapped her arms around Willow and there was skin, warm, and brushing against skin, and her lips were still as sweet. The kiss lasted for only a moment but Dianne pulled only an fraction of an inch away. “Granted that was back in high-school and I am wondering how young, innocent perhaps, your friend thinks I am, but why do you think I kept up with it, yoga instructor by day and contortionist by night?”

“Because it's a crowd pleaser?”

Dianne grinned, brushing her lips against Willow lightly. It felt like feathers brushing against feathers. “That it is and you're quite a crowd to please.”

Oh Goddess, Willow wanted nothing more than to drown in those soft touches but, well, Spike was human.

“You're not coming back to bed, are you?”

Willow glanced at the clock. It wasn't quite nine but that meant she'd already missed at least a couple of flights out. “I wish I didn't, but I do have to go.”

“Because Spike's human.”

Willow stepped out of the embrace. “You probably shouldn't think too hard about that.”

“You're not coming back, here I mean, to me.” It wasn't a question. It was a statement.

Willow froze. “I …” I thought you knew. Last night, I thought you'd realized. “I might. Something might draw me back. I mean, I did come here in the first place.” Pittsburgh had one of the most active and powerful covens in the U. S. She might need their help again. If Xander was right about Spike, she might need them soon. 

Dianne grinned but it was a sad, lopsided smile. “I know. And after Bre … after my-ex I sure as hell am not ready for long-term but something about you makes me wish I was ready.”

“I, uh.” Willow ducked her head. “Thank you.” She couldn't say it back. As much as she'd enjoyed last night, it wasn't true and when you used magic it was pretty important to stick to the truth. 

Dianne's hand under her chin raised Willow's head until they were face to face. “Right, I just wanted to let you know …” Her lips against Willow's were as sweet as they had been the night before. “So, go on then. Spike's human. Might be important.”

An image of Hell come to Earth flashed through Willow's mind. Dianne was lucky she had no idea how important it might be.


	9. Saturday in the Park

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title comes from a song by Chicago, one of my Dad's favorite bands.

If she hadn't been an atheist, Millay would have been thanking someone that Will was such a Luddite. Otherwise he'd have thought to drop the tech as he'd run off. It had let her listen in, but it also let her track him to this park. No, Will would never call this a park. In fact, he'd ranted on for hours, more than once, on how a few plants surrounded by concrete did not, as he put it, a park make. She stopped at the far edge of the space, where the street gave way to concrete, flipped her skateboard up to her hand, and watched him. He'd stretched himself out along the edge of a fountain. There was no water, not this early in the morning. He turned his head away as she walked up. She sat down and rested one hand near his shoulder, close but not touching. “I could mess with Harris' finances. Sell him 200,000 shares in a spoo ranch.”

“You should go. 'M not safe.”

Shit. He'd believed the bastard. Of course he had, Will was always too sensitive to the opinions of others. She figured it was the amnesia. Lacking a past, he looked to others to tell him who he was. “That's bullshit, Will. You, a rapist? No way. No way.”

He sat up but looked like he was about to bolt. She tightened her grip on his hand. “He's lying,” she added.

“He wouldn't lie.” 

“How would you know …” She almost dropped his hand. “You remember him?”

Will jerked as if she'd struck him. His breathing was heavy and Millay waited for him to speak. “No way for him to know about the amnesia.”

Oh, good point. “I still don't believe it. I know you, Will. You're no rapist.”

“You know me now. Didn't know me then.”

Millay could feel herself trying to will her belief in him through their joined hands, which was ridiculous. Speech was convincing; good vibes were nothing more than balderdash. “Personalities don't change with memory loss. Look at Alzheimer's patients. The ones who were nice before, stay nice. The ones who were curmudgeons, stay nasty.”

“Doesn't matter. I did it. I hurt the girl.”

“I don't believe it. You're the gentlest man I know.”

His laughter was dark, bitter. “Yeah, well, things change.”

 _I hurt the girl_? This wasn't just what Harris had told him. “You do remember. What? What do you remember?” He sat there, staring at nothing, not speaking. She yanked at his hand. “Tell me.”

“I can see her.” His words were quiet, trance-like. She figured it might be the only way he could share whatever he was seeing. Millay sat perfectly still, listening but not speaking, waiting for him to go on. “That Buffy he spoke of. She's young. Little more than a kid. There's a bottle. It's in my hand. I'm waving the broken glass, jagged, sharp, it's right in her face.”

“You cut her?”

The spell between them broke. She could see Will pulling into himself. “I don't see that. The bottle's going toward her face, but I don't see blood. Harris was there too, laid out on a table or something. Looked dead.”

“Do you remember raping her?”

Will shook his head. “No, just those two bits: me jabbing the broken glass in her face and seeing Harris stretched out.”

“You didn't rape her.”

“How do you know?”

“Harris said tried to.”

“Yeah, 'cause that's so much better.”

“Will, whatever you're seeing, that isn't you. The memory plays tricks. It doesn't record what happened. It's a mix, an image from here, another from there, some real, some imagined. You can't trust a few random images.”

“If I can't trust my own mind, what can I trust? Scratch that. I've never been able to trust my own mind. Don't recall anything from more than six years ago. Maybe now I know why. Maybe I don't want to remember.” He stood and yanked his hand out of hers.

“Will.” 

“I need some space Millay.”

“Where will you go?”

He shrugged. “Don't know.”

She stood. “Not good enough.”

“Millay …”

“I don't want you alone. You don't have to stick with me, but you have to be with someone.”

“Fine,” he sighed. “What about Ash? She can give me one of those knockout pills of hers.”

“And after?”

“I've got work. Even rapists need to pay bills.”

“Will, you're not a …”

“Drop it, Millay.”

She thought about the tracker he was carrying. Not good enough. If he thought about how she'd found him, he'd dump the tech. “Okay, but I'm escorting you to Ash's.” He started to object. “No arguing.”

Will turned and started walking. “Let's go then.”

As they left the park behind them, Millay heard the fountain start up. She didn't turn to look.


	10. Missing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Taming prompt: normal

Millay wanted to speed up as she passed the muted green of the house next to Ash's apartment. It wasn't that the house was ugly, although it was. She didn't think Will should be on his own. Ash didn't have the whole story or even most of it really, which would be why Will wanted her rather than Millay as he worked his head around what Harris had told him. What the hell had that bastard been thinking? She slowed down, double parking in the street outside the four story building. “No place to park. I'll have to drive around.”

“Just drop me off.”

She almost jumped out of her seat when Will spoke. His silence had hung heavily between them ever since he'd agreed to let her drive him to Ash's. “I'm not sure that's a good idea.” 

“I'll go up. Promise.” Millay didn't reply. “Look,” he added. “I'll even wave to you from the window so you'll know I made it there safe and sound.”

It was the best she was going to get and she knew it. Hell, she was grateful he hadn't jumped out of the car on the drive over. “Okay.”

He didn't tell her he'd be fine. He didn't say anything else at all. Nor did he look at her. He did stand outside the security door, flanked by red and yellow bricks, until Ash, or someone else, let him in. Millay sat there, with her blinkers going to signal she was double parked, until she saw him waving from Ash's window. 

Millay knew she should go home. She'd been up all night and Will would be fine. Ash would keep an eye on him. Something made her stay. She found a parking spot just a block away, over on Carroll Ave., and thought about walking to the lake but couldn't get up the energy to move. She could wait and call after Ash's pills had knocked Will out. But when Will woke up, he'd know she'd filled Ash in. Will might be naive in a lot of ways but you couldn't keep secrets from him. He picked up on them right away. She should have gone up with him, but he hadn't wanted her. He'd been through a shock. She shouldn't add to his troubles. Fine. Coffee she could find. She'd give it an hour and then call Ash. He should be out of it by then and maybe he wouldn't realize she'd been checking up on him. No, he'd definitely figure that out, but maybe by the time he woke up he'd have calmed down enough to be okay with it. 

Before getting up to hunt for coffee, Millay took one more look at the tracker's screen. Will's signal was gone. Shit, she should have known she'd lose the signal. Will must have finally figured out the listening device also held a tracker, but why would he have destroyed it if he were still at Ash's? 

The heavy thud of the car door slamming shut was nothing next to the pounding in her chest. Taking the sidewalk would mean running past three houses on this street, where the yards were bigger, and even more on Calumet Ave. Without even considering it, Millay cut straight through someone's yard, dashing under the trees and noting in passing that the driveway was empty. The house behind was surrounded by a fence but the one next to that was open. The yard between was so narrow that no sunlight reached down to Millay until she'd passed onto the sidewalk where she had to stop and shield her eyes against the light before crossing the street. She punched at the buzzer. “Come on, come on.”

“Yeah?”

“Ash, it's Millay. Let me in.”

The wooden floor of the hall had been stained a garishly artificial red. Millay dashed for the stairs, taking the purple carpeted steps two at a time until she was at Ash's floor. “Where is he?” In any other home the green not-quite-velvet of the couch and the floral pattern of the chairs would have looked retro but under Ash's care they seemed somehow normal. Millay looked past them to the white and red of the dining area's table and chairs. There was no sign of Will. She dodged around to the bedroom, just barely large enough for a twin bed and dresser. Still no Will. 

“Millay.” Ash sounded shocked. Too bad.

“Where'd Will go?”

“He left.”

Millay thought about grabbing Ash and slamming her up against the wall. That probably only worked in movies. “You let him leave?”

“Let didn't come into it. He wanted to leave and he left.” 

Fuck, she should never have let Will come up here on his own. 

“What's going on?”

“What'd he do with the tracker?”

As Ash blinked, her dark eyes grew wider against her pale skin. “You were tracking him?” She paused for a moment, wringing her hands together. “Are you tracking him now?”

“If I could track him now, I'd know where he was.” 

“Are you sure the GPS isn't working?”

Millay handed over the screen and Ash, still now as she held it in both hands, stared down at the empty screen. 

“Did he say where he was going?”

“I'm not sure. Something about one of his skater friends maybe?”

Shit, he could be anywhere. Millay took a deep breath. Joan could hook up with the skaters.

“Tell me what's up,” Ash demanded.

“No time. Look, he's in a bad headspace. We need to find him, sooner rather than later.”

Ash leaned into the wall as if searching for support. “I should have know when, well, he wouldn't talk about that guy, the one he'd gone looking for, the one who knew him.”

The one who'd told Will he was a rapist. The one Will had believed.


	11. Rescue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for a prompt at Taming the Muse: sidekick
> 
> Influenced by [sparrow2000](http://sparrow2000.livejournal.com/146871.html)'s process, I wrote the dialogue first and added descriptions after. On the second draft, as I was adding descriptions, I realized the scene had to start much earlier so the dialogue draft comes in when Xander calls.

Angel had been taken and, even though it'd been less than a day, it seemed to Buffy as if the sun had vanished with him. The shadows had deepened as if the light wasn't strong enough to hold the dark back. The trees that had been full of buds – just yesterday, hadn't it been – now raised stark branches to a dreary sky, branches that held tightly to their few desiccated leaves as if those tiny bits of unlife could survive the ravages of winter.

Angel had been taken and so it seemed appropriate that they'd left the gloomy evening for Rome's underground tombs. Catacombs were meant to be dark. That thought didn't make the darkness any more comfortable as a dozen small flashlights – attached to baseball caps to keep hands free – did little to push back the darkness. Buffy wasn't leading the way; Sophia was. Just because Sophia was local, everyone believed her when she said she knew the catacombs. It wasn't like Buffy knew the electrical tunnels back in Sunnydale. Okay, bad example. Since she couldn't head the line, Buffy took the rear. These tunnels were too small for two Slayers to fight side-by-side. If they were attacked from the back, Buffy wanted to be the one to handle it. 

“Should it be this cold down here?” Buffy wanted to smack the Slayer who's spoken but the girl was four up from her.

“Shh. We don't want to give our presence away.” And now Wes was speaking although he'd at least whispered. Buffy hadn't wanted to bring the Watcher along, but he'd insisted. Something about him needing to question a demon and that she'd kill them all if he wasn't there to stop her. She could so restrain herself, if she needed to. 

“I was just wondering,” the girl continued but at least whispering now, “if the cold was coming from the demons, a sign that we were close.”

Buffy smacked the Slayer ahead of her. “Pass it down and tell her to shut up.” The Slayer, the one who'd spoken, glared back and rubbed her head but didn't say anything else. 

The walls seemed to press in on them, narrowing as they moved through. It felt as if they'd been entombed. Buffy could picture rocks crashing down on either end, trapping them. She could feel herself panting, her breath shallow and fast, but she couldn’t seem to stop it. She reached out her left hand, the one that wasn't holding the Scythe, and brushed it against the heavy stone, feeling how far away the walls were. Her breathing calmed but Buffy couldn't shake a sense of dread. 

When the stone gave way to something else, she felt it before she saw it. The texture was softer than stone but the new surface wasn't as flat as stone. There was some sort of pattern. When she turned her head, and thereby her flashlight, toward the wall, she was expecting the skull before she saw it. Rows of skulls ran horizontal to the floor with leg bones rising between each row. Buffy turned away, focusing on the end of the corridor. This had to be a sign they were close. Watching from the rear, she saw the other Slayers jump as they each in turn noticed the bones. Wes didn't jump though. He eyed them calmly and kept moving. Maybe he'd been expecting the bones. He could have said. 

Buffy heard the end of the catacombs before she saw it. There was chanting up ahead. And growls. Chanting and growls. Had to be the place. It was big, football stadium big, with Angel at the other end, chained to the wall. The ceiling arched overhead three stories high. Demons lined the edge of each level but there weren't that many on the floor, or at least not yet. 

Buffy gripped the Scythe in both hands. “Lois, Janet, you two protect Wes. The rest of you, clear the road. We're getting Angel back.”

The demons weren't tall but they were wide, as wide as two Slayers across. With their gray hide and tusks, they looked like rhinos, ones that ran on two legs and had clawed hands and spiked tails. The demons snorted as they charged, building up steam, moving faster and faster. The lead demon reached out to claw Sophia. She stepped to one side and swung her blade across his torso. Guts spilling, he continued to charge, heading straight for … “Lois, get Wes out of there.”

Too late. The demon had dropped but Wes had gone flying across the floor. “On it,” Janet called out. The two Slayers moved off the protect Wes, leaving the group. Shit, Buffy cursed. Shit, shit, shit. Shouldn’t have brought Wes. 

Three more demons were moving in. “Cut them,” Sophia shouted out. “You can't stop them. They have too much momentum. Slice and dice and get out of the way.” She was right. Three Slayers sliced. They all kept out of the way. Three demons went down. 

Janet and Lisa ran up with Wes. He looked a bit wobbly. “You alright?”

“I assure you, I will survive the evening's entertainment.”

Okay, that didn’t make much sense but, then again, it was Wes. “Good.” They might just make it through this. 

“Uh, ma'am?”

She turned on the Slayer. “I told you, call me Buffy.” The girl wasn't looking at her. Buffy followed her line of sight, turning and looking up to see a demon jumping from the third level right down to the floor. It was completely and utterly unharmed. Buffy scanned the three levels. Hundreds of demons. Maybe more. Oh, great. “Slice and dice, people. Let's go.”

A demon charged and Buffy sliced. She widened her focus, watching everything, her Slayers, the demons they were fighting. When Lois' slash sent a demon charging her way, she sidestepped, slashing it herself as the demon charged past. They moved, foot by agonizing foot, toward the far end of the crypt. Angel was still alive. She could see him, in the momentary breaks between fighting. She wasn't sure why he was still alive. Wes had said something about a ritual. Maybe they needed Angel alive for that. 

Where was Wes? As another demon charged, she sliced, turning 360-degrees, spotting Wes behind and to the left. Lois and Janet were close to him but not too close, making sure he didn't get killed but allowing him to fight as well. Knowing she couldn't have handled it better herself, Buffy turned back to the fight. 

When they were thirty feet from the far wall, Buffy dashed through the charging demons, running onto the one closest to Angel, leaping up off of him and flying at the wall, cutting Angel's chains before slamming into the bones on the wall. As she fell to the floor next to Angel, the chains landed with a resounding crash. “Don't suppose you've got a weapon for me,” Angel asked.

“Sword.”

Angel held out his two arms, rattling a foot of chain down from each. “Need these gone.” He stretched his two arms out, one next to the other, against the wall. As Buffy started to line up the Scythe, he added, “Watch out for my arms. Kind of need them.”

The Scythe swung, cutting the chains off inches below his arm. “No sweat,” she replied. 

A growling came from behind them. Buffy swung the Scythe as she turned, chopping off claws. She turned her back to Angel. “Sword. Now.”

He grabbed it from the sheathe and stuck it into the demon. “Nice. Good weight.”

“Only the best, but we've found that slicing works better than stabbing against these guys.”

“Slicing. Right. Got it.”

Buffy's cell rang. “Hello?”

“Buffy?”

“Xander? What's up?”

“Is it a bad time? I'm calling at a bad time, aren't I?”

Three demons broke off from the group attacking the Slayers, growling as they turned toward her and Angel. “I'm a bit busy. Can it wait?”

“It's sort of apocalyptic.”

“Oh, in that case, let me put you on speakerphone.”

“You are busy,” Xander said.

“Wait just one sec.” The wall behind her was full of bones, skulls interlaced with bony hands. Buffy settled her cellphone into one of the hands. “Hang onto this for me, will ya?” She turned to scan the room. “Okay, Xander, all set but you should probably speak up.”

Two of the demons started charging. Angel leaped forward, spinning as his sword slashed the first demon's hide.

Xander's voice sounded tinny coming from the cell. “It's about Spike.”

Before Angel could complete his turn, the second demon's tail lashed out. “Angel,” Buffy called out as the barbs slashed into his leg. 

Angel winced as he hit the floor but his sword slammed down onto the demon's tail. “Spike's back?” he called out as the demon's blood spilled onto the floor.

As the demon turned, its claws raking out toward Angel, Buffy ran over. “How is Spike apocalyticy?”

“I saw him … and his reflection.”

Angel's leg gave out sending him crashing to the ground. “Angel,” Buffy cried, “you said you were okay!”

“Spike shanshued?” he asked.

“Looks like.”

“What'd he say?” Buffy asked.

The third demon charged at Angel. Buffy stepped forward, slashed, and sent him careening off toward the wall. “He kind of ran off,” Xander said before the demon smashed into the wall sending bones and Buffy's cell crashing to the floor.

“Hey,” she shouted as she rounded on the demon. “I had pictures on that phone.” It wasn't moving but she chopped the Scythe down through its neck just the same. 

Buffy scanned the crypt. Slayers outnumbered the remaining demons two-to-one. Wes was shouting something at them but didn't seem to be harmed so Buffy helped Angel up, shouldering his weight to get him to his feet. “So,” he said, “Spike shanshued.”

“What do you care? You gave it up so you'd be a more helpful sidekick. Good job with that, by the way, getting your leg nearly slashed off and all.”

“Me? I'm not the one who's the sidekick.”

“I know you don't mean me,” Buffy growled.

“I took out two demons to your one.”

“Two? Hey, I killed that second one. You just pissed it off. And anyway, I had to answer the phone.”

Angel shifted to stand on both legs and winced. “And when I ran the evil law firm, my secretary answered the phone.”

“Harmony? You're comparing me to Harmony?”

“Well, uh.”

A demon charged past the Slayers, making for a side door. Buffy charged after.

“No,” Wes' voice called out. “Buffy don't …”

The Scythe tore straight through its head.

“ … kill it.”

As she turned, Buffy saw that Wes' head was tilted down, resting in his hands. “Huh?”

Wes lifted his head back up with a sigh. “The final demon. We wanted to interrogate it.”

Oh. Yeah. “Ooops?”

“Interrogate?” Angel asked, limping over.

“Yeah,” Buffy said. “Wes here has a theory that these demons wanted you special.”

“Wanted me? That doesn't sound good. What for?”

“That's what I was hoping to determine,” Wes said.

“No biggie. I know someone we can ask.”

“Buffy,” Angel said. “No.”

“You can stay home, you big baby.”

“You're not going in alone.”

“And?” Buffy asked.

“He just gives me the willies.”


	12. Destiny. Destiny. No Escaping, Not For Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hadn't planned to return us to Will so soon but the prompt of Wyrd fit his situation too well. So time in the demon dimension runs 10 - 12 hours per 1 hour in the BtVS realm.

Will rested against the wall with his fingers interlaced behind his head and his legs stretched out before him. He felt remarkably calm considering he was shackled to the wall. When he'd woken, still groggy from Ash's sleepy pills, he'd remembered a story Morgan had told him, something about a guy who'd taken LSD and ended up on some farm, stark naked, claiming to be Jesus Christ. Will had crashed at Ash's apartment and woken in a cell so narrow he couldn't even stretch his arms out without hitting a wall. He'd have thought he was hallucinating, like that guy Morgan had mentioned, except for one tiny and inconvenient detail. Ash hadn't given him LSD. 

He'd done his shouting but that was behind him now. There was a chain shackling his ankle to the wall, its metal was dark and heavy, rough rather than smooth as if modern smelting techniques hadn't gone into its making. There was something almost medieval about it, about the whole setup. The walls, surrounding him on three sides, seemed to have been carved out of living stone. The fourth wasn't a wall at all but prison bars stretching the length of the cell, which seemed a bit redundant since the chain wouldn't let him get that far. Past the bars, on the wall behind, a sconce held a flaming torch. It should have seemed outlandish or at least a bit strange, but Will felt strangely comfortable, almost as if this were normal for him. 

The flames started bucking wildly, as if blown by a heavy wind, but Will, at the far end of the cell, couldn't feel even a breath of moving air. When the flames settled back to relative stillness, a figure, its body masked by a dark robe, stood on the other side of the bars. The cloth, its roughness suggesting tree bark, revealed only a face and a pair of pale arms, so thin they seemed little more than lean branches. A face, feminine rather than masculine, a perfect oval, pale against the shadows under the robe's hood, seemed to float as if detached from a body. 

“Spike.” Her voice echoed as if it were reaching up from the bottom of a deep well. “Tonight you face your wyrd.”

Yeah, this was weird alright. He didn't ask. He knew, without knowing how he knew, that if he wanted to live out the night he had to convince this – witch? woman? – that he wasn't Spike. “Don't know whom you mean. Name's William.” He didn't bother telling her it was Will to his friends. 

“Do not try to deceive us, Spike. We know your memories have returned,” she said in that deep echoing voice. 

As if her words had conjured the images, he saw, once again, Xander laid out as if dead on a table and the red-head, Buffy, crying as he jabbed at her with a bottle. “Don't know what you mean.” He forced into his voice a casualness that he didn't feel. 

She stared long and hard as if trying to read him. Well, two could play at that game. He stared back, looking just a bit above her shoulder rather than at that disturbing visage. In a flash, she dropped to the floor and scattered stones before her. She peered at them, staring just as she'd been staring at him not a moment earlier. He stood to see what she was seeing. There seemed to be markings, black against the gray stones, but he couldn't make them out. He could hear her muttering, but the echoing words didn't make any sense. “Isa blocking Perdhro.” Her head jerked up, as quickly as that of a hawk spotting its prey, and he froze under that gaze. With a sweep of her hand, she gathered the stones into a small bag. She shouted as she rose to her feet, “A'handru.”

A woman stepped into view, donned in the same type of robe but hoodless, revealing the face. In that flickering light, he recognized the dark pixie haircut before he knew the face. “Ash,” he shouted. “Ash, run. Get out.”

“A'handru,” the woman said again and Ash nodded in response. What the hell was this?

“A'handru, you told us the Shanshu had regained his memory.”

“He has,” Ash replied. “He told me he remembered the Slayer.”

The woman's hand reached out and slapped across Ash's cheek. “He recalls no Slayer. Tell me his words.”

“I met with Xander,” Ash said, parroting his words. “Harris, that is. When I met him I remembered, I'd known him before, him and this girl, Buffy.” 

“Foolish child. His memories are too few. You should have dug deeper. For this error, you shall face the dr'grasith.”

Ash' face seemed to pale as she dropped to her knees. “I apologize for my most egregious error. I was afraid his old friends would take him away, that we would lose our chance.” 

She'd asked for more details, back in the apartment, but he hadn't wanted to talk. “Just give me a couple of pills,” he'd told her. “I need the sleep.”

“Take her to the dr'grasith.” The woman waved her hand and three others, also hooded, stepped out of the shadows, surrounding Ash. 

“No, sister.” Another, twin to the first from what Will could see, stepped into the light. 

“Urdror,” the first woman said. Urdror? Was that a name?

“No, V'ranti. The others search for him. We may need A'handru. She may still serve to lead them astray.”

The first woman, V'ranti, waved her hand in dismissal and the three figures surrounding Ash stepped away. “S'kutul,” V'ranti called out. “What instructions do we have for our instrument?”

Another woman, identical to the first two, appeared. Triplets? “The one he remembers.”

“Buffy?” V'ranti asked.

“Not Buffy,” Urdror replied. “His memory misleads him there.”

“The witch,” S'kutul added. “The witch is the key. She will restore his memory and then he will face his wyrd.”

“Hey,” Will called out. “What's this wyrd you keep going on about?”

“Destiny, but stronger,” Ash replied.

Destiny. Destiny. No escaping, not for me, echoed in Will's thoughts, the humor of that scene a stark contrast to the place he found himself. 

Urdror turned and slapped Ash. “You do not speak to the Shanshu. Fail us again and you will be food for the great worm.”

Ash bowed and did not speak again. 

Destiny. Wyrd. That didn't sound too bad. On the other hand, the people deciding his destiny were the kind to casually talk of feeding people to worms. He didn't think he'd like their idea of his destiny.


	13. Two For the Price of One

About a half-dozen of Buffy's Slayers had vanished into the catacombs that lined the crypt. It wasn't until Babs burst back out, shouting for Wes, that Buffy realized nobody had told them to be not telley around Angel. “Angel! You're hurt,” Buffy exclaimed. “We should get you back to HQ and get you checked out.”

“I'm fine.” He was staring at the artifact – glass or at least clear and star shaped but with more than five points – that Babs was handing over to Wes. Okay, deep breath. Maybe it was part of the reason the demons had taken Angel. 

“Ah, yes,” Wes said. “Good eye, Barbara.”

“I thought Mr. Theroux,” Barb replied.

“Yes, yes,” Wes said absently. “It's certainly rare enough that he'd want it for his collection.”

Or maybe the artifact had nothing to do with Angel. She should have bonked Wes on the head rather than wasting her time trying to drag Angel away.

“What's going on?” Angel asked. 

Wes' mouth opened but nothing came out. Only a Watcher could be so distracted by an artifact that he'd forget Angel was standing right there. Damn. She'd known better than to bring Wes. “It's part of why the demons brought you here.” She could at least try to get Angel off the scent. “This Throw guy, well he's kind of an expert on how pointy bracelets are used in rituals.” Pointy bracelets? Really? It was kind of bracelet sized and would look cool with her … 

“You're selling it,” Angel said.

Shit. 

“You're taking demonic artifacts and selling them.”

“I, well, ah.” Wes was no help.

Babs stepped away, moving as she spoke. “I'll just get back to my …” She pointed toward the catacomb she'd run out of. At least she had enough sense to not spill the beans, even though they'd already been spilled so it was more like she wasn't adding to the spillage but at least she knew when to go away. 

Angel turned on Buffy before she had a chance to tear into Wes, not that she was about to with Angel standing right there. “You said you didn't need funding. I had all those Wolfram & Hart accounts sitting there, ripe for the plucking, and you told me that you had the money under control.” 

She could have had something prepared. She'd known he'd figure it out someday. She could have been ready for this. She wasn't.

“You lied to me about money? You lied to me?” You lied to me about money was bad enough but that plaintive quiver in his voice when he'd said you lied to me? He was going into that broody place, the one that not even ice cream could break him out of, not that Angel was ever big on ice cream. 

“Not lied so much as …” No, they had lied but they'd had a good reason. “That was evil law-firm money.”

“You won't take my firm's money, but you will steal from random demons?”

“We defeated these demons. There are spoils or money spoiling if you let it sit too long or, um, something.” She let her sentence run down at the end. That money spoiling concept couldn't be right.

“We defeated Wolfram & Hart.” Right. That. And this is why she'd kept it from Angel. Because it made sense when you said it that way but it had also made sense when Wes had said to leave the lawyer money alone. 

“I advised her against accepting access to the Wolfram & Hart accounts.” Thank you Wes for finally jumping into the fray. 

“You advised her?” Good, let Wes deal with Angel's wrath. Wes, at least, didn't have to worry about dog houses and sleeping in his own bed privileges being revoked. Not that Angel could kick her out of her own bed, but she liked it when he was there with her. 

“Yes,” Wes said. “We'd been affiliated with Wolfram & Hart. If we took their money as we left, a case could have been made that we were continuing our employment, and that might have given the Senior Partners access to this dimension.”

“Let me get this straight. First Spike shanshues and now you lie to me.”

“Technically we lied first.” Oh, right. So not the point to make.

“Spike did what?”

Okay. Who knew that Wes' glare could be that intense. “Spike shansued.” Before Wes could start in on her, Buffy blurted out, “Not hiding anything from you. We just found out. Xander callage. During the fight.”

“Oh dear.” Buffy glanced at Angel who looked as worried as she felt. “Sophia,” Wes called out. “Do we have any indications what these demons wanted Angel for?”

Sophia ran over. “We found this.” This had an outer circle, about an inch wide, and squiggly lines – lightning bolts maybe? – running down to an inner circle that surrounded a cross. 

Wes stared down at the object. “Oh dear,” he said again.

“Oh dear what?” Buffy asked. “Oh dear they almost killed him? Oh dear they almost opened a Hellmouth? Oh dear they almost transported us to a world without shrimp?:

Wes raised his head and caught Angel's gaze, “Oh dear they almost shanshued him.”

“Shanshu?” Shit, Angel sounded like he wanted it. They'd talked about it. Angel was perfectly okay with not becoming human again. Why would he sound like he wanted it? 

Buffy jumped in. “But Spike's already shanshued.” Okay, and that wasn't the best thing to remind Angel of. “One shanshued vampire per apocalypty ritual, right? Why would they need another?”

“It's possible they didn't know Spike had shanshued.” For a moment, Wes looked as if he'd bitten into a lemon. Whatever he'd just thought, it was worse than the demons not knowing Spike had shanshued. “Or it could be two sets of demons, each intent on their own apocalypse.”

“What? Two apocalypses? No. Bad. Not two apocalypses. One is bad enough.”

“What can we do?” Angel asked.

“We'll need to secure Spike immediately.”

“Willow's there,” Buffy said. “And Xander. Willow and Xander. They can handle it, right?”

“I'm afraid not. We need to be in L. A. ourselves, as quickly as possible.”

Oh, great. Spike being all big with the googly eyes. Angel being all jealous. And an apocalypse. At least it wasn't two apocalypses.


	14. Gives Me the Willies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And this week you do get two (chapters) for the price of one. Since I came up with two directions I could take the prompt of firebrand, Iwrote both.
> 
> I'd divulged that the demons were trying to shanshu Angel earlier than I'd intended to. I meant for that revelation to come in this chapter. So you get additional exposition.

“So, the new and improved dive, looking not that different from the old dive.” 

“Look everyone, it's the Slayer or, uh, a Slayer. No wait, my bad, two Slayers.”

“Hey,” Angel growled. 

“And a terrifyingly souled vampire. Oh God, I'm scared.”

The bar was dark with tall circular tables instead of the booths of the old bar. The walls were green instead of red but the smell was the same, that slightly sweet stink of decay that seemed to cling to certain types of demons. The neon sign was there too, the brightest thing in the place actually, spelling out the name of the bar in yellow neon: Willy's Place.

Angel rounded on Buffy. “Do we have to be here?”

“Willy? You can't handle Willy?”

Angel glanced around the bar. “I don't like him. He's creepy.”

“You're a big, scary vampire. Suck it up.”

“He disrespects me. You heard him. 'Oh, God. I'm so scared.'”

“Don't be a baby. We need intel.”

“We do not,” Angel insisted. Geez, he'd been whining ever since they'd left the catacombs. “We already know what the ritual was for.”

“Hey, Slayer,” Willy called out. “I'd listen to him. That Angel, he's a smart guy.”

“Shut up, Willy. A bunch of demons, living down in the center of the catacombs …”

“It's not the center,” Angel said.

Buffy rounded on him. “What?”

“I'm just saying, the catacombs don't have a center.”

“He's right,” Willy added. “Do you know how extensive …”

Buffy slammed her hand on the counter. “Intel. We need. Now. Crypt loving demons decided to make Angel their new chew toy. Why?”

“I,” Willy stammered. “I really couldn't say.”

Janet, who'd snuck up round the bar while Willy wasn't looking, arm-locked him. “Hey, and aren't you the little firebrand.” He jumped to his toes as she twisted his arm. “Hey, stop that.”

“Tell us what we need and she won't break it.”

“Okay, okay.” 

At Buffy's nod, Janet released Willy but stayed close. He gave her a look as he brushed at his clothes.

“Info,” Buffy said. “Now.”

“Give a man a chance to catch his breath why don't you?” Janet move in, stepping closer to him. “Shanshu,” Willy spouted out. “They needed a shansued vampire. Something about ending the world.”

“And you decided not to tell me because?”

“Hey, you're the Slayer. I figured you were already on it.”

Buffy held her fists still. You don't choke him until you know all he knows. “What else?”

“What? What do you mean, what else? That's it.”

Angel jumped in. “Why didn't they grab Spike if he's already shanshued?”

Buffy suppressed a sigh. Angel was going to be whining about that all the way to L.A. She just knew it.

“Hey, Spike's back? When you see him, there's this little matter of about a dozen kittens he owes me. Of course, with interest, it's probably up to, oh, let's see, five, no, almost six years at … what percentage did we agree on?”

“He doesn't know anything,” Angel said. “Can we go now.” 

“Okay,” Buffy replied. “Wes'll kill us if we miss our plane.”

“Hey,” Willy said. “Have fun in L.A., and if you stop by the crater …”

Buffy leaned over the counter, grabbing Willy by his collar, and dragging his face close in toward hers. “L.A.? We never said anything about L.A. Angel, did you hear me mention L.A.?”

“Hey, hey,” Willy shouted.

“Spill.”

“Okay, okay,” he added. Buffy let him go. “There these demons, the Three Who Speak As One they're called. Sisters maybe.”

“Not really interested in genealogy.” 

“Look, there's three of them but they're said to be one. Sometimes it's said they're sisters, sometimes that they're three bodies with one mind. I'm not sure how that's supposed to work. Telepathy or something. But these local demons, the guys here that grabbed Angel? They aren't even on the map next to the Three.”

“And they want to end the world,” Angel said.

“Open up some sort of dimensional portal I think. Bad juju, maybe more than you can take on.”

“You've told me that before,” Buffy replied.

“Yeah,” Willy said, “but that was … maybe not so different.”

When Janet spoke, asking where they could find the Andrew sisters, Willy half jumped out of his skin. 

“Andrew has sisters?” Buffy asked. The image of a longer haired Andrew wearing girl's clothes was seriously disturbing.

“The Andrew sisters,” Angel said. “Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy.”

“Say what?”

“It's a song from World War II, a classic. Unfortunately, my jukebox, it doesn't carry the older tunes.”

“Not related to Andrew?”

“No, why would you think,” Angel started.

“Moving on,” Buffy interrupted. “Where can we find these Three?”

“I don't know.” Janet grabbed Willy's arm. “No, no, I really don't know. They don't live in this dimension.”

“But they'll have to come back to do the ritual, right?” Buffy asked. 

“And to grab Spike,” Angel added.

Buffy thought back to Xander's words: He kind of ran off. “If they don't have Spike already.”


	15. Weak Link

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for a prompt at Taming the Muse: firebrand. 
> 
> Looks like it's pick an Andrew week. I make him miserable in [Not Your Momma's RPG](http://dragonyphoenix.livejournal.com/311761.html) and he apparently likes what's happened in the [comics](http://sueworld2003.livejournal.com/1581974.html) but, damn! Really?
> 
> With the school's motto, I'm referencing my own story, [Mission Statement](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1269433) because if you leave Andrew and/or Xander in charge, this will happen.

When camera surveillance had tracked Harris to the airport, Millay had thought she'd lost him. Granted, she could track him but only if he was traveling under his own name, which seemed unlikely if he was running. Turns out he wasn't running, just picking up. His text, to one Andrew Wells, mentioned Willow and meeting him at the school. Millay watched as Xander hugged a young woman. A quick scan of incoming flights and passenger lists came back with a name, Willow Danielle Rosenberg. Not the Buffy Will had spoken of, just as well. Much as Millay wanted the other side of Will's tale, getting Will back came first. 

The mention of a school sent Millay back to the info she'd pulled up on Harris the other night, and there it was. The website was smaller than Millay would have expected, but Alex Harris was listed as the Director – not Principal or Headmaster, which seemed a bit odd but whatever – of the Jenkin's School for Gifted Girls. After a further search, she found Andew Wells listed as the school's Grand Jedi Master, but it got weirder. The school's motto was spelled out as Dissipet Omnia Monstra. That had to be a hack. It was a private school, a smegging girl's school at that, from the looks of it the kind of place where the country club set felt perfectly comfortable leaving their spawn. There was no way its motto was the name of a Japanese monster movie. 

Deciding she wanted eyeballs on the guy, Millay called on some friends to watch the vid footage while she staked out the school. After grabbing a latte at the closest Starbucks, she sat down at a bus stop across the street and waited across from the campus which extended out for six square blocks on Sunset Blvd. As she waited, Millay regretted her decision to come to the school. She could have been back at home, watching through cameras as she gathered more data. Well, she wasn't about to turn back now. She'd been sitting there about a half-hour when her cell rang.

“Tell me the car's on its way here.”

“About five minutes out, sugar.”

Millay fell back against her seat in relief. “If it doesn't come around to the main entrance, let me know.” She didn't know what she was doing, chasing after them like this. Vid feeds were much more efficient. “Did you get anything else on them?”

“Not much you need to know now but there was one interesting tidbit. It seems they all hail from Sunnydale. Must be a convention in town.”

“Why am I not surprised? Thanks, I owe you one.”

“You just get Will back. Ta for now.”

Millay leaned forward as Mr. Wells and some girl stepped out of the building. She would have thought the girl was a student, but the pink hair, Nerf Herder t-shirt, and holey jeans suggested otherwise. At least the girl looked comfortable. Under the midday sun, Wells had to be dying in that tweed. After the car had pulled up, Harris handed the keys over the to girl – maybe she was somebody's relative? – and didn't seem to give her another thought as she drove off with his car. 

Millay put the oddness of the girl out of her mind and took a look at the two newcomers. If Harris, with his eye patch and black clothes, looked like Hasselhoff playing Sergeant Fury, Rosenberg's brown dress, amber necklace, and flame of red hair made Millay think of a burning ember. As they turned toward the school, Wells tripped over a step and was caught by Harris before he hit the ground. That didn't seem to stop Wells from talking though. He'd been going a mile a minute ever since Harris and Rosenberg had stepped out of the car. The two of them shared a glance as Wells, walking off to one side of them, kept expounding on something. Millay wished she could hear them. He seemed to be quite the talker and almost certainly knew something she didn't. Millay wondered what it would take to get him to open up. 

Millay pulled out her cell. The other end picked up after two rings. “Big Rico's pizza.”

“Put Rico on. Tell him it's Millay.”

After about thirty seconds, Rico's rough tone came over the phone. “Yeah?”

“Hey, can Mona come out and play this evening? Will's missing. I've got someone I want to question.”

“Missing? As in trouble? You want me to grab this perp for you?”

“Thanks, but the situation's delicate. I don't want to scare him off.”

“Okay, you got her, but I want to be in the know, you know, once there's something I can know.”

“Soon as I can, I'll stop by.”

Andrew Wells, guy who can't stop babbling, meet Mona Jameson, irresistible force.


	16. Divination

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: for a prompt at Taming the Muse, foreshadow
> 
> Does anyone remember meeting Webb?

Hardly anyone called him James anymore. James, from the Latin Iacomus, from the Greek Ιακωβος, from the Hebrew יַעֲקֹב. Also known as Jacob. Protected by God. Or the supplanter. It was hard to recall sometimes. More recently he went by Webb. The web of life. Brought into being by Spider Grandmother. Web of lies. Deception. Anansi. Cunning. Trickery. Survival. 

Webb flicked the last of the french fries aside and licked the salt off his fingers. The burger's wrapper lay before him, a square within the rectangle of the tray. Square, from the Latin, exquadrāre, from quadrāre, to make square. He folded the wrapper down, again and again, until it had become a tiny square which he then tucked into the cardboard box that had held the fries. Cardboard. Before that it had been card-paper. Papyrus. From the Greek, papūros, reed used in making paper. Picking up the salt shaker, he rubbed a finger along the slick plastic. Salt. Child of the sea. Child of that which gives birth to all. Brother. Sister. Helper. His darting gaze took in empty tables and a couple of kids chatting behind the counter, paying no attention to him. He twisted open the shaker and poured the salt into a plastic bag. Tricks, bag of, but this was no trick. This was survival. Twisting the shaker back together as he rose, he left the empty container behind on the table, tabule, tabula. Rasa. Tabula Rasa. Blank slate. But nothing was empty. All was in motion. 

As he stepped out into the hot afternoon, the thread pulled at him. Thread, from þræd, cord, wire. þrawan, thræ, twist. The thread, not a cord but a twist, a twist of fate, pulling, no, calling, calling him to come, now, before it's too late. The coin, copper – Cyprian metal – and copper-demon – child of old Nick – combined, lay heavily in his hand. Hands, fingers twisted together like tangled yarn, yarn woven like fate. Moirai weaving the web of destiny. 

And that call came, of course it came, drawing him down. L.A. Live. L Alive. Red line, dread line, bread and butter till you're fed up line. And then down, down, down into the bowels of the earth. Terra. Firma. Terra but not firma. Open and cavernous down below the rim of the earth. And not dark. But not the good light, the bright light, the brilliant light of the sun, but a dark light, a fake light, a slit your throat and toss the corpse in a dumpster light. And so he moved quickly, drawn between the parked cars, up and down the rows, until he found the one, the beast, the Jaguar all orange and black. From jaguara from yaguara. Predator. Hunter in the darkness. His crowbar smashed through the window of the beast and it screamed, the sound a howling darkness in the dangerous light. He dropped low as he ran, scooping a handful of glass into his leather bag. Glass. Melted sand. Child of the earth can only be captured while below the earth. 

Because all is movement, the fake light of the great below gave way to the safe light, the solar light, the light of day and then he was home. Home, home, home, where they have to take you in but there was no one there to take him in, no one to hang his hat for him once he made his way inside. But first he stopped in the foyer, the hearth, the heart of the home, and he greeted his sisters to his left, gathering lilies under the bright light of day, and he greeted his brothers to his right, plowing through terra firma under the lesser light of the moon, and he stepped through to find his home, first door to the right and straight on till morning, but morning had come and gone and day, soon, would fade. 

The small room, a perfect square, at the back of his apartment, was work done long ago, done and redone, old but renewed over the decades. Old from Old English eald, akin to Old Norse ala to nourish, and the room had been nourished with sage, sweet smoke, wise misty vines twisting through the air, filling the walls with a life of their own until they became imbued with strength and protection, wisdom and vision. He poured the salt out, forming a great circle centered in the square, three feet out from the center, until it's round and round and round she goes, never stopping, an ocean of infinities in the center of one small room. 

Everything he had in the bag was tossed up into the air and came crashing down, tumbling down, rolling down the hill. And all that fell outside the circle, the pins and needles, the paperclips and rubberbands – they didn't count at all, but all that fell in, oh and didn't they make a difference. The seashell, skolika, skin of a child of the sea, the shell fell into the center of the circle, uniting top to bottom and left to right, making a whole, a hole, an gateway calling change through. And the copper married to its own demon lay low, near the bottom and off to the right. Isa blocked Perdhro but it wouldn't last. The sweetness, darkness hidden by light, chocolate with a candy colored shell, rolled from the top of the circle down until it was trapped by glass arced above the copper coin. And at the bottom left, a key, the opening of a door, and rising up from there a trail of glass and nails, rising to the surface, rising up out of the earth, rising to attack, to kill, to destroy. 

Webb lowered himself to the floor, sitting before the sacred circle, and opened a box, rolling the herba buena into a cigarette, from the Spanish cigarita, little cigarra, small grasshopper, Mary Jane, mari – juju – ana, and lit it, drawing in the smoke before letting it out with one great breath, watching the smoke until is dissipated into the room. “That prophecy's foreshadowing some bad juju.”


	17. A Nice, Little Chat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Taming prompt: Rhetorical Question

“And if you will just step into my office,” Andrew said, “we can talk in private.”

The walls had been replaced with bookcases that ranged from the floor up to the ceiling, or maybe the bookcases had always been there, but Willow rather guessed not. It wasn't that the bookcases looked added-on because they didn't. It was more that most books were stored in actual libraries. “Um, do you really need to store all these books in your office? Because I think we could afford storage space.”

“The knowledge in these dread tomes is not for the uninitiated, my dear girl.” Willow watched as Andrew startled back in response to her glare of death, which, good, meant she was getting better at the death-glare. “Um, I mean woman, or, er, witch.”

Dread tomes? If they were really that bad, they should be under lock and key. Surely Andrew's office wouldn't be secure enough. She scanned the shelves and stifled a laugh. “Andrew, you have Magic for Dummies in here.”

“Nay, dear lady, surely not.”

Willow pulled the book from the shelf and showed him the title, An Introduction to Magical Systems. Okay, so it wasn't actually called Magic for Dummies, but still. 

“That one, uh, must have been misfiled.”

As she reshelved the book, Willow gazed down at the floor. The parquetry pattern laid out in light and dark looked familiar, like something she'd seen thousands of times, something from a place more familiar than home. Oh. “Is that the pattern from the floor of our high-school library?”

At the far end of the room, a couple of feet out from another wall of books, Xander flopped down onto the leather couch, leaving the rest of the couch or the three chairs, also leather, for her and Andrew. “When I told him that his office couldn't reproduce the Magic Box, he went for the school library instead.”

“As long as there's no Hellmouth underneath,” Willow muttered. 

“I assure you …”

“Never mind,” Willow interrupted. “If there were, I'd know.”

“Huh?”

“The big mojo?” Xander asked.

“That and growing up on one,” Willow said as she took the other end of the couch.

“And on that note,” Xander said, “with big Hellmouthy goodness looking over our shoulder, maybe we should get started.”

Andrew remained standing. Willow could see him thinking the extra height gave him more authority. “The presumably shanshued Vampyre, Spike, has been seen by one Watcher.” He gestured toward Xander. “Said valiant defender noticed the presence of a reflection. Further research has remained inconclusive largely because said possibly shanshued Vampyre has not been available for, uh, research purposes.”

“Xander saw Spike's reflection and then lost Spike. Yeah, got that.”

“Hey,” Xander complained. He glanced between the two of them and shrugged. “Well, okay, yeah.”

“The Vampyre, uh, sorry, presumably shanshued Vampyre …”

“Andrew!” Xander raised his right hand in a stop position. “We tried tracking Spike through security cameras,” Xander continued, “but they'd been disabled.”

“That sounds bad. Is that bad?”

“Yeah, pretty much. Unusual at least,” Xander said. “A couple of our best witches tried to track Spike from the hotel, but came up with nothing.”

“Well, that makes sense. He'd register as a human so unless we had something that had belonged to him, he'd be impossible to find.”

“That is exactly what Mr. Giles confirmed after we'd made the experiment.” Andrew said the name, Mr. Giles, as if he'd thought Giles had hung the moon. No wonder Andrew had been assigned here, at the far end of the country, while Giles worked out of Council HQ in London. 

“After I'd seen the reflection, I'd tried chasing Spike, running out of the hotel but it was no go. He was nowhere to be seen.”

“At least the police officers didn't detain you again,” Andrew said. 

“Police?” Willow asked.

“Yes, thank you Andrew, I was getting to that. It seems a group of skaters – with skateboards, not ice skates – had taken over the hotel lobby around the same time Spike had come up to see me. We're not sure it's related but seemed like a good bet so we've got – what, three girls? – making nice with the skaters. Of course the girls have to build some trust before they're gonna get anything.”

“Four girls,” Andrew said. “Tatiana doesn't speak English that well but she's kick-ass with her board. Remember that scene where Legolas slid down the Oliphant?”

“Andrew,” Xander interrupted. “You promised. No digressions.”

“I was just gonna say,” Andrew said quietly, “that Tatiana could totally kick Legolas' butt on a board.”

“No she couldn't.”

Uh oh, that was Xander's you are not winning this argument voice. Willow jumped in before they could start bickering. “Okay, so Spike's missing and we don't have any real leads, at least for the moment, but it's Spike. Even if he's human, he can take care of himself, right?”

As the silence continued, Willow glanced between the two of them. Okay, if it had shut Andrew up, it must be bad. “What?”

“Spike, well …”

“Spike, well, what?”

Xander's words came out in a rush. “I'm not sure he knew who he was.”

“You're not sure … You mean he has amnesia?”

“I, uh, think so?” Xander had his I really don't want to tell you tone of voice going.

“What did he say?” Willow asked.

“It wasn't so much what he said as … well …”

“Xander.”

“He didn't remember the rape.”

“The rape? With Buffy?”

“Do you remember any other rape?”

“I thought you only saw him for a few minutes,” Willow said. “And you brought up the rape?”

“It was Spike, okay?” Xander was all but shouting. “Evil undead. Vampire. Did you expect me to invite him in for tea and crumpets?”

Oh, yeah. Xander with the whole wigging because vamps had killed newbie Slayers before Xander could save them, leaving the corpses for Xander to find. Shit. He so wasn't the best person for Spike to have gone to. They should have brought Xander in from the field a whole hell of a lot sooner. “Okay, okay. So, we hope that the skaters know something. Anything else?”

Andrew had sort of faded against the bookshelves, but when Xander didn't speak up, he did. “We're sort of, um, hoping that you could pick up Spike's trail at the hotel. You know, because you're a real powerful Wicca and you, um, knew him.”

“Oh.” Yeah, they could give that a try. It probably wouldn't work but now wasn't the time to bring that up.

Andrew took a step closer. “And when Buffy gets here, maybe she'll have some ideas.”

“Buffy? When Buffy gets here? As in Buffy's flying in?”

“Well, um, yeah?” Andrew asked. “I mean, we have a potential apocalypse and also a vampire who may or may not have shanshued.”

“Andrew, I'm fairly sure her question was rhetorical.”

Willow bit her tongue. What, someone thought we couldn't handle one little apocalypse without Buffy?

“Will,” Xander said. “Spike's back. She'd want to know.”

“Their love was a pure love, a noble love, a love that surpassed even life, or, well, undeath, itself. Why, after Spike sacrificed himself …”

“After Spike sacrificed himself, Buffy was pounding on my door after only one night looking for a spell to anchor Angel's soul.”

Andrew had plastered himself against the bookshelf again. At least he'd learned when to duck. Goddess but she could use a drink. Willow stood and snapped the question out at Andrew. “Where do you keep your liquor?”

He pointed behind his desk. “I, er, panel.”

Willow pulled the panel aside. Not more books, as she'd first thought, but drinks. Rum. Cans of coke. Pomegranate vodka. And Scotch. Royal Lochnagar. Only twelve years old, but still, not something Andrew would have picked up for himself. Probably a going-away gift from Giles. Willow poured herself a glass and turned back to the room. “Buffy used Spike and once he was gone she threw herself at the first warm body that came along.”

Andrew's voice came quietly from the edge of the room. “But, um, wouldn't Angel's body be cold? I mean, vampire and all.”

“Let it go, Andrew,” Xander replied. “I'm pretty sure we're not talking Buffy and Angel or even Buffy and Spike here.”

Willow took a swig, not even tasting the Scotch. “Sure we are. She killed him, well, not killed-killed so much as let him use the amulet which she knew would kill him. Just as soon as Angel came back, poof, Spike was gone. That doesn't seem a bit too convenient?”

“And this has nothing to do with you cheating on Kennedy with demony snake-goddess woman because you felt guilty?”

“Hey, I don't have dead ex-lovers coming back and messing up my relationships.”

Willow drained the glass and poured herself another grateful that Xander and Andrew both had the courtesy to not bring up Tara's name. She hadn't felt guilty. She hadn't done anything to feel guilty about. Just because Buffy killed one lover and bounced into bed with the next … Shit. 

She finished off the Scotch in her glass, closed the panel, and put the glass down on Andrew's desk pad. The blotter paper had an image of Darth Vader. Of course it did. “You want me to check for Spike's trail at the hotel.”

Andrew looked visibly relieved. Xander did too, but you had to know him well to see it. “Yeah,” Xander said. “We could head over now.”

Good, and then maybe, after she couldn't find Spike, she could retreat to her room. 

“I can't come with you,” Andrew blurted out. “I'm taking some Slayers out tonight, and I'm busy, and I can't come.”

“That's okay.” Goddess, did she sound as tired as she felt? “I'm sorry for the, the stuff.”

“Oh, that's alright. I'm used to explosions in my office. You try living with hundreds of teenage girls. Why yours was nothing compared to, well, they usually don't drink my Scotch but I don't really like it that much anyway.”

Ah, good, normal, or at least pretending to be normal. “Taking Slayers out? I thought they went out Slaying on their own.”

“Sometimes Xander or I go along to offer support or critique, but you want to be careful when critiquing Ella because she doesn't take constructive criticism all that well and anyway Xander can't go because there was that witness and he got picked up by the police but luckily it had been a vamp so there was no body.”

Xander had risen to his feet during Andrew's babble, but stopped after taking one step, stared off at nothing, and then smacked himself on the head. “Oh, God, I'm such an idiot.”

“Xander, what is it?”

“Spike. The hotel wasn't my first Spike spotting. When I was being arrested, he'd been leaving, uh, some kind of cafe or something.”

“Another lead.” Oh, good, because that magic trail Xander had been hoping for, so not going to work.

“Another lead,” Xander agreed.

“Another lead,” Andrew repeated. “I will send my stealthiest team …”

“Willow and I will check it out.”

“Ah, well then I will move Buffy's hotel room so she's not on the same floor …”

“Andrew,” Willow interrupted. “It's okay. I'm just …” projecting my own guilt “… tired. Leave Buffy's room. It'll be fine.”

“If you're sure,” he asked doubtfully. 

One little tiff and now she had Andrew walking on eggshells. Great. At least he wasn't trying to fix anything.


	18. The Play's the Thing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Taming prompt: rabies

Wells was proving to be a difficult target. Not in terms of tracking, which had been as straightforward as Mona had expected, but he was never alone. He'd remained at the Jenkin's school until shortly before dusk. Unexpectedly he'd driven off with an entire busload of girls, students presumably but, if they were students, then the school didn't have any kind of a dress code. A number of the girls were in shorts and one even seemed to think she was Daisy Duke. It wasn't what Mona would have expected from a purportedly upper-class institution. It also had a more international flavor than Mona had been expecting. Even from two streets down she could identify mannerisms from Africa, South America, and East Asia. What was this school? 

As the bus pulled out, Mona got a good look at its logo, a pointy stick crossed against a knife. She shook her head as she trailed the van and was equally dumfounded when they pulled up to what appeared to be an old motel. Wells didn't seem to be going anywhere, so she rang up Millay. “Hey, no chance to get him alone. I tracked him to some hotel, the Hyperion.” She waited while Millay pulled her Internet tricks. 

“He lives there. Almost the entire school staff – and there aren't as many of those as there should be – as well as the students live at the hotel.”

“Curiouser and curiouser,” Mona replied. “Gotta go. There's movement.”

Wells had pulled around with another school vehicle – it had the same logo painted on the side – but this was more of a Mom mobile than an actual bus. About a half-dozen girls poured in, two of them scuffling for the front seat, before the van drove off. Mona pulled her car out after it. 

After about twenty minutes, Mona found herself pulling to a stop on a street outside a strip of buildings, everything from doctor's offices to crystal healing based on the signs. They were fairly nondescript: brick, two stories. The parking lots were empty outside of the school's van. Leaving her car on the street, Mona crept along the footpaths and peered around the edge of one brick wall for a clear view of an open area in the center of the buildings. 

Wells had donned a black dress. From the bulk of it, he'd put it on over his other clothes. His face seemed to have a greenish tinge, although it was difficult to be certain given the limited lighting, and there was a witch's hat on his head. “Fly, my pretties, fly!”

One of the girls – from the Valley based on her Versace dress and mannerisms – crossed her arms. “We are not winged monkeys.”

“Oh, come on, please,” Wells whined. “Can't you just go with it? I've always wanted to be the Wicked Witch of the East.”

“No,” Valley girl replied. “Padawans was one thing. Monkeys is quite another.”

“Besides,” another girl, British, from south London based on the accent, added, “once Diana gets a whiff of that wicked witch crack, your ass'll be toast.”

“Diana doesn't scare me,” he replied. “You won't tell her, will you? Please say you won't. We can stop for ice cream on the way back.”

Mona's feet scrambled for purchase as she rose from the ground. Someone, someone damned strong, was lifting her, pulling her back and up. As she fell into the body behind her, Mona jabbed her elbow back. It should have loosened his grip, at least a little bit, enough for her to work with, but he merely laughed. She slammed her fist down, going for a groin strike, but he blocked it with a leg. Damn he was fast. 

“Home delivery.” The voice was slurred, almost as if he had a mouthful of marbles. She'd never heard anything quite like it. “Our lucky night.”

Mona slammed her head back and heard the crunch of cartilage as the strike broke his nose. She pulled his arm down and of off her and took a step back as she spun out of the hold. The kick to his head did less damage than she'd expected but he was holding a hand over his nose. Blood poured down from behind the hand. “You bitch.”

Stepping back into a fighting stance, Mona took in the three men. Their clothes – blue jeans and brightly colored shirts – marked a style that hadn't been in for almost a decade. Something off. Bloody nose, the biggest of them, was also the maddest. But that wasn't … What the hell was wrong with their faces? She didn't scream until she saw the teeth.

As bloody nose came running, she kicked out at him, but he grabbed it – how could he be that fast? –, pulling her off balance, sending her slamming to the ground, and knocking the breath out of her. By the time she could roll over, arms and legs raised to ward off her attackers, the men were gone. 

The girls, all six of them, stared down at Mona, presumably taking in the jeans, Firefly t-shirt, and, damn, she'd lost the glasses. They must have flown off in the fight. Not that she needed them other than as a prop for her geek-friendly persona. “What the hell was wrong with those guys?” Oops, so much for the helpless girl image. “I mean,” she added, waving her hands, “their faces.” 

As she finished speaking, Wells came running around the building, still in the black dress and, yes, his face was definitely green, but he'd lost the hat. “They certainly weren't vampires,” he blurted out. 

“What?” One of the girls offered Mona help up from the ground. She was stronger than Mona had expected. 

He was still talking. “ … but they could have had rabies because I saw this movie and it was really scary.” He paused to glare at one of the girls. “And there was this rabies virus, only it wasn't quite rabies but something like rabies, and it turned people into zombies, the fast and powerful 28 Days Later kind, not the slow and stupid Dawn of the Dead kind.”

“Rabies don't do that to faces,” Mona said.

“What do you think you saw?” It was Valley girl, smarter than she looked, who spoke up, cheerful and helpful as if nothing odd had just gone down.

Think? Oh, yeah, helpless persona. “Their faces were … distorted, sort of bumpy maybe, and their eyes were yellow.”

“Rabies,” Wells said. “Yellow eyes are a sure sign.”

“Ow,” he added, glaring at the girl who had punched his arm.

“Maybe it was masks?” asked a Texas drawl. “I know in the heat of battle, I mean, I uh, I got mugged once and I definitely thought the demons … uh, guys, were much bigger and uglier than they were, well not uglier because they were butt ugly but …”

“Janet,” Valley girl snapped. 

“Thank you for your help,” Mona said. “I don't know what I would have done if you hadn't come along …” She allowed her words to slow as if the thought were just occurring to her, “ … out here where everything is closed and empty.”

There was an uncomfortable silence. Whatever they were, they weren't particularly professional. Not one of them had a cover story ready.

“A play,” Wells blurted out. “We're practicing a play. Star Wars: Return of the Jedi. There's this battle scene and we sort of needed and outdoor open space because it's the Ewoks, you see, and have you ever noticed that nobody likes the Ewoks? People call them cute. And weak. People say they're weak all the time, but they aren't weak. They're bloodthirsty warriors. When we first see them, well not the absolutely first time, but sort of near the first time, anyway, they were all ready to kill and eat Luke, Han, and Chewbakka. That's not cute. Nobody would call that cute. And they'd taken down Luke, and he was all big with the Jedi powers, which you could see when he raised up C-3PO …”

“Andrew,” Valley girl interrupted.

“A Star Wars play,” Mona said. “But you're dressed as the Wicked Witch of the East.”

“Well, uh, you see,” Andrew started.

“It's a cross-over,” Texas said. “Both Star Wars and Oz.”

“It's avant garde,” Valley girl added. “And what are you doing here, given that everything's closed and all?”

See how it's done, girls, Mona thought. “I have a doctor's appointment, in a couple of days, but it's my first time here. I thought I'd drive up ahead of time to make sure I could find the place.”

“So you found it, right? Maybe it's time to head home.”

She thought about making a play for Wells, to see if she could get him alone, but Valley girl, at least, would pick up on what she was trying. Better to retreat and try again later.

“Janet, Pat,” Wells said, pointing to Texas and another of the girls. “Why don't you two escort her back to her car? You do have a car nearby, don't you?”

Clever of him. The girls could check out her license plates and pull up info on her. If she'd actually used her own car. “Yeah, out in the street.”

“The street?” Texas asked, as if the short walk might do her harm.

“Exercise,” Mona said, raising her jeans just enough to show off her pedometer. “Ten thousand steps a day.” She couldn't count how many scrapes that line had gotten her out of. 

She let the girls escort her back to the car. “So, you all go to the same school?”

“Yep.”

“Your teacher, Andrew I think the name was? He is your teacher isn't he?”

“Sure.”

“He seems a bit eccentric.”

“He's okay.”

They'd reached the car and the girls hadn't given away any info. Not bad. Looking back in the mirror, she could see that they watched her car until it was out of sight. That was not at all what she'd been expecting from Andrew Wells. 

Mona pulled into a Golden Arches, more for the parking than the food, and dialed Millay on the cell. “Yeah, Mona here. Contact but I couldn't get him. I'm not sure what's up. He's either completely oblivious or a cunning mastermind.”


	19. Time and Dark Regions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Taming prompt of siege  
> [Siege Perilous](http://marvel.wikia.com/Siege_Perilous), according to Marvel comics, is a key that opens gateways between dimensions.

“Man, why does it always have to be cemeteries with you guys?”

The blue dots that were gathered together into a spherical shape twinkled in a manner that somehow suggested the amusement of a person whose dog has pulled off a clever trick. Of all of those who had the knowledge to call upon a Spirit Guide, only Webb would assign such an entity the epithet of man, focusing on its sentience rather than its physical form. From the stone bench where Webb sat and the Spirit Guide floated, Webb could glimpse the orange and gold mosaic dome of the Portal of the Folded Wings. Webb had no idea what his companion could see. Non-corporeal entities can see more, and also far less, than humans. 

Fingers nimble from decades of experience, rolled the herba buena into a form resembling a cigarette. With a schtk, the lighter flared, bringing forth life, in the form of a burning ember, to the end of the joint. Webb closed his eyes as he drew the smoke in, holding it before breathing out again. “Huh? Oh, sorry man.” He held the joint out with one hand, about three feet below the twinkling sphere. The smoke drifted slightly in the wind, forming trails that rose upward until they gathered inside the sphere, obscuring the blue dots with the gray fog of smoke. 

“My bud, Will, he's missing.” Webb drew in another puff of smoke. “Of course I checked. Did a divination even, but it didn't tell me much. Something bad's going down. Already knew that.”

“Thought you might know something,” he added. Webb sang through the chorus of Rainy Day Women twice before continuing. “Hey, I get it, secret knowledge, time and dark regions, but this is some serious juju.” Webb held the joint out below the Spirit Guide again. As the sphere filled with smoke, the twinkling pattern slowed, the lights drifting on, the lights drifting off, their purpose lost, obscured by the gray smoke. 

A jay, the blue of its feathers almost turquoise in the fading sunlight dropped down onto the ground and started pecking about hungrily. “Three sisters?” Webb asked. “Heh, I don't know about that, man. Spent the night with two sisters once. That was …” Webb's hand twitched so hard he almost dropped the joint. “Oh, those three sisters. Shit. You mean to tell me they're involved?”

The jay picked at the ground for another few minutes as smoke drifted up into the sphere. “They got him already, don't they? Will I mean. Those three sisters already have their claws on him. Has to be 'cause he ain't anywhere around here and he don't remember jack about his previous life so he don't know to get out when the getting's good.”

“Those three sisters, they ain't from around here. Not their home dimension.” In a startle of wings, the jay sqawked and flew off. When Webb looked over, the sphere had vanished. He pulled out a roach clip to keep the last of the joint from burning his fingers and took a long toke. “This looks like a job for Superman. Shit, no, not him flying through the skies, a lady, Lady of the Northern Skies, like the northern lights, electric, Electro. No, that's not it. Dazzled, dazed, dosed, shifting through alternate realities. The Siege Perilous. Yes, that it's it, glowing and green key, but it's missing too, as hard to find as Will would be, but he can't be found without it.”

Webb stubbed the butt against the bench, extinguishing its ember. Unraveling the joint, he let the last of the weed drift to the ground. “If I were an impossible to find mystical key, where would I be?”


	20. The Sunflower

“We dusted the vamps back behind that club.”

“Who dusted them?” Willow asked. 

“Okay, okay, the Slayers did while I hid in a completely manly fashion,” Xander said. “And, hey, how come you don't get on Andrew's case for saying 'we Slayed'?”

“Because I've known you longer.” She left it at that. The street was crowded, more alive than Pittsburgh had been. Of course Theater Square was more highbrow than a street full of eateries and dance clubs. Recognizing the name from the police reports, Willow took in the Club California, all three stories with neon signs and a line out the door. “Is this where the cops picked you up?”

“Yeah,” Xander said. “Thanks, by the way, for getting me out of jail I mean. There was this one big guy, I swear his name was Bubba, who was getting a leetle to interested in the Xan-man.”

“And where'd you see Spike?”

Tracking to where Xander was pointing, Willow looked through a wide window into a fairly crowded space that was all green and yellow cheerful. “He came out of there? Are you sure?”

“Well, let's see, I was a bit distracted what with the getting arrested and all but, yes, that's the door Spike came out of.”

“Right,” Willow said. “Let's go see if they recognize the photograph.”

As they crossed the street, Willow could see that the place was a cafe called The Sunflower. There was a big chalkboard with the words Poetry Slam written out in multi-colored letters and the inside was, if anything, even more cheerful – in a chipper way, not an overly saccharine way – than it had seemed from the street. “Who knew there was this much sunflower tchotchke in the world?” Xander asked. In addition to a sunflower banner that ran the length of the store, there were sunflower tableclothes, little mirrors with sunflowers on them, a sunflower wind chime by the register. Heck, even the crew had sunflowers embroidered on their white blouses.

“Table for two?” The waitress was sort of cute. Blonde, tall but lean. She reminded Willow of a chick from, where was it? Paris? Maybe Rio. No, definitely not Rio. That had been a blonde all right, but a guy. 

“Actually we're looking for someone,” Xander said. 

“Name?”

“We don't really have a name,” Xander continued. “Unless he's going by Spike which he, uh, might not be.”

“No name? Did you agree on a signal of some kind, a carnation perhaps?” Ooh, this one was snarky. Nice. Willow made a mental note to come back after they'd found Spike.

“No, but we have a picture. Willow, show her the photo.”

Andrew had given them the photo. “I had this made up as soon as I heard you were looking for Spike.” It was a head-shot of the Spike she remembered. Spikey bleached hair. Dark leather coat.

“Where'd you get this?” she'd asked. 

“Um, remember when I'd interviewed you all back before Sunnydale became a giant sinkhole?”

“Oh, yeah,” Xander said. “You got that from those? Nice shot. Hey, is that Buffy's basement?”

“Um, Andrew,” Willow said.

“Yeah?” He sounded a bit uncertain. Oh yeah, this was definitely worth pursuing.

“How did you get those out of Sunnydale. I mean, it's not like you had time to run back to the house for them.”

“Well, I sort of, um …”

“Andrew.”

“Imailedthemtomynana.”

“Huh?” Xander asked.

“You mailed them to your …” Willow translated the word nana. “ … grandmother?”

“Yeah,” Andrew replied. “Sunnydale was, well, I really didn't think I'd make it out alive and I wasn't too sure about anybody else really, and everyone was so brave and it was so beautiful and I wanted the world to know so I shipped out everything I'd caught on camera a couple of days before … well, before we went back to the high-school.”

“Oh, wow, that actually … That's pretty cool.”

“Thanks Xander,” Andrew said. “Oh, and I've got a bag for the photo, so you can carry it around all surreptitious like, with no one seeing it until you want them too.”

“Okay, that sounds …” insane, Willow thought “ … useful.”

“What is that thing?” Xander asked. 

“It's a briefcase.” Andrew sounded wounded.

“Then why does it look like a purse?” Xander was looking at it as if he were afraid it'd bite.

The reddish leather was actually kind of nice. “It's a woman's briefcase,” Willow said. “Medici?” 

“Yeah,” Andrew said. “I was out with my Slayers and we were Slaying outside of this really awesome shop and when they saved the owner …”

“Okay, okay,” Xander interrupted. “But Willow? You're carrying the purse.”

Willow pulled the photo out of the briefcase and held it up. “It's from about six years back.”

“I'm not sure,” the waitress said.

“Picture him with darker hair,” Xander said. “Sort of longer and more flowey around the front and trimmed shorter around the sides and back.”

“Oh, Will,” she said. “It's Will. Yeah, he's a regular.”

Willow glanced around the bright space. “He comes here? A lot?”

“Yeah, like I said, a regular.”

“He wouldn't happen to be here now, would he?” Xander asked.

“It's sort of important that we find him,” Willow added.

“No, not since last night but his bud, Morgan, he's over there at the far table. Firely t-shirt. You can't miss him.”

There was a guy at the back, cowlicky blonde hair, dark glasses, and a “leaf in the wind” t-shirt. “Oh, a geek.” Willow grinned as she spoke. “Right up our alley.”

Xander led the way, dodging around the tables, most of which were full. Must be a popular place. “Hey, are you Morgan?”

Before Xander could ask about Spike, Morgan had leaped to his feet, grabbed Xander by the collar, and raised a fist for a punch. “Eyepatch! You're that guy from the other night, the one who knew Will.”

Willow's hands shot out. “Nap time.” 

Xander grabbed Morgan before he hit the floor. “Willow!”

“Sorry,” she added as Xander helped Morgan into a chair. “Just meant to make him a bit more agreeable.”

“Is there a problem here?” Some guy, manger by the look of him, put himself between the two of them and Morgan.

“It's okay, Dave. I got it.” The girl had come out of nowhere. She was sort of cute in a dark pixeyish way. And, hey, she was helping. 

“Ash, you sure?” Dave asked.

“Yeah.” She waved him away. “Morgan, dude, you definitely need a coffee before you head out the door.” She turned her attention to Willow and Xander. “You two want anything?” She sounded as if there was nothing odd about her friend almost collapsing after being approached by two strangers.

“Uh, no, we're good,” Willow said.

“Come on, what's your poison?”

“Herbal tea?”

Xander glanced at Willow before adding, “Coke for me.”

“Great, be right back.”

“Herbal tea?” Xander asked once Ash was at the bar.

“Did you want to waste time arguing about drinks?” Willow asked.

“Well, yeah, okay.”

“How's the guy?”

“Fine, fine,” Morgan answered. He didn't look fine. In fact, he sounded sort of loopy. “Couldn't be finer if I could be in Carolina in the morning.”

“Great,” Xander said. “You've got him singing.”

“Sweeter … senorita … morning.”

“I panicked. He was about to hit you.”

“So, here we are.” Ash placed the tray of drinks on the table and wouldn't talk until they were all sitting. Xander, next to Morgan, took up one end with Willow and Ash at the other.

“So, how do you know Will?”

Xander filled in when Willow didn't answer. “We knew him back in Sunnydale and, uh, sort of lost track of him when, well, you know, it became a big hole.”

“Sunnydale? He'll be awfully glad to see you.”

Something was off. Willow couldn't quite put her finger on it. But Ash looked almost, what?, relieved when Xander had mentioned Sunnydale. To give herself time, Willow sipped at her tea. And hey, everything felt sort of funny and the room was spinning, yellow and pale green wooshing around her and she sort of felt sick but then there was darkness like a cave but with torches and she was still woozy but nothing was spinning. 

“Your graces, I have brought the witch.”

And Ash was there, ashy bashy trashy, and she was holding, oooh, glowy. Wanty. Willow reached out with her magic but it slammed straight into something as hard as a brick wall. “Hey. Ouch.”

“Good, she will return the Shansued's memories. Take her to the cell.”

Oh, whoa, there was a dias and it wasn't all that stable with the rocking gently back and forth and back and forth but maybe that was the whole room, and there were three, well somethings or other. They sort of looked like they were wearing cloaks made of bark, tree cloaks, three tree cloaks, but they were mystical too, like Norns, or Moirai, but there faces were hidden. She heard herself giggle. “You aren't Gorgons are you? But you can't be, can you, 'cause then I'd be frozen, cold, stone cold stone.”

And then she was walking and it was still dark. And stone. A still dark stoney stone, oh, and maybe she was stoned because at every torch they passed it seemed as if time stood still and she was staring at that torch forever but then it was just like a poof of a moment and she was in a cage but she wasn't alone and who was it there?

“Spike? Oh my Goddess, Spike, it's you and we've been looking for you even though you'd been dead, well deader, like dead as in all dusty dead, but now you're not and it's so good to see you.” She grabbed him into a hug, chanting his name, chanting Spike Spike Spike Spike, until he answered her.

“Buffy? Are you Buffy?”


	21. By the Lake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Gemini

Okay, maybe midnightish wasn't the safest time to be bolting for the lake, but Dawn had grown up on a Hellmouth. She could handle campus, even at night, and sometimes you just had to be alone. The two sets of benches – one out in the open and one the under under the pines – at her favorite overlook were empty. Well, yeah, of course they were. No one in sight. She settled in under the pines. It wasn't like she needed the extra shade, but sometimes she wanted, or maybe even needed, the extra sense of seclusion, like right now when Buffy hadn't thought it worth calling to tell her another apocalypse was in the works. 

Dawn got it, she really did. It wasn't as if she could do anything, being all the way on the other side of the country and there'd been that whole agreement that she'd put school first, but Buffy was flying in from Rome. Boston was a lot closer to California than Rome. It wasn't like she'd miss anything too important, well, except for that test, and that lab, and a couple of papers that were due. Dawn sighed. She liked school. She really did. Wellesley's campus was the best. Nothing on the west coast could stand up to it. And she got that she was learning, building a foundation so she could help with the Slayers in the future. It was just … she felt all out-of-the-loopey. Really, come on. Buffy couldn't call? It's not like she had anything else to do while flying across two continents and one ocean. 

“Hey.” Geez, where had the old hippie come from? Dawn reached into her backpack for her cross. Let her friends think she was weird for always having one accessible. You never knew when you might need one. “I'm looking for the Gemini.”

“Um, sorry but I'm a Scorpio.”

“Oh no, man, not that kind of Gemini. The twin, you know?”

“Uh, no, not really.”

“The two who are one. Mortal and immortal both. Glowing green energy but human-form born.”

Oh. Shit. Did anyone else even know that Glory wasn't dead? Dawn held the cross out at arm's length. Of course Glory didn't do vampire minions, not so far as she knew anyway, but it couldn't hurt, right? “You stay away from me.”

“Oh, hey, it's you. I've been totally looking all over for you.”

“Get back.”

“They need your help. The dude, he's off in another dimension. They can't get to him in time, not without you.”

His hand was a grip of iron around her wrist. The sickness in her stomach gave way to a sense of triumph as her book-laden backpack smashed into his head, but when he hit the ground it wasn't with the thump of a body collapsing on wood. It was a softer sound, less echoey. Dawn stood staring at the road before her. The green closeness of Boston had given way to a barren landscape, one she recognized. She'd been here before. She didn't need to turn to see the huge hole behind her. Dawn inched to the edge and looked down. By the light of the moon she could see the outline of a sign. She didn't need to read it to know what it said: Welcome to Sunnydale.


	22. The Restraunt at the End of the Universe

Mona looked past the sign reading Jenkin's School for Girls to the three students engaged in what looked like an animated conversation. They kept walking around the campus, showing up at regular intervals, which suggested they were patrolling, but they were chatting amiably and, besides, they were teenage girls. They probably just couldn't sleep and were walking the campus because it was safe. 

As the target came into view, Mona lifted her binoculars. Wells stopped to chat with the girls. From what she could see, he wasn't at all bothered that they were roaming campus in the wee hours of the morning. In fact he seemed to be encouraging them to join him in whatever he was up to. They shook their heads but it seemed to be a friendly no. Wells waved to them as he continued on his way. “That's him,” Mona said as she lowered the binoculars. Comparing the map to the set of buildings before them, she added, “He's heading to, uh, a building listed as Milliways. It seems to be the campus cafeteria.”

Rico's laugh always reminded her of a gravel avalanche even though Mona had never seen, or heard, a real avalanche in her life. A big bear of a man, he towered over her five-foot-eight-inch frame. While Mona generally appreciated big men, there was something off about Rico. No glint of human kindness ever reached his eyes. She'd never shared that thought with anyone though. It sounded far too odd. “It's geek humor,” he told her, “from those Hitchhiker books.”

“Ah.” Well, it wasn't stranger than anything else she'd seen about the school. 

“Are you sure he's a wizard?” Rico asked.

She shook her head as Wells entered Milliways. “I'm not sure of anything except that the guys who attacked me were real ugly in the face, to the point of being deformed, and that magics are your gig. Oh, but the school's website lists Wells at the Grand Jedi Master if that means anything.”

Rico scanned the school's grounds. “You were right to call for backup,” he said. “You would have been pegged as soon as you'd crossed onto the campus. It's surrounded by magical shields, but those shields weren't raised by Wells.”

“So he's not a wizard?”

Rico shook his head. “Can't tell from this far off. To be on the safe side, we'll treat him as one until we know either way.” Rico did something, with herbs and rocks. It didn't make sense to Mona but the magical stuff never did. “Right then, let's get him.”

The cafeteria was dark but light came through the half-wall that led to the kitchen where Wells was loading dishes into a washer. Mona felt her jaw drop. In addition to rubber gloves and an apron, Wells was wearing a white cap, the kind you'd see a maid wearing in a Merchant Ivory flick. “Of course not, Mr. Giles,” Wells was muttering to himself. “We don't need cleaners on campus. The girls will be happy to clean up after themselves just like you did when you were a lad at Watcher's U. Except they don't, do they, and I'm stuck with the scullion work.”

Rico pointed to Mona and the closest door to the kitchen, and then to himself and a door that was at the back of the kitchen, one that obviously led outside. He then held up five fingers. “Five minutes,” Mona mouthed rather than whispered. 

And then Rico was gone, leaving her alone to keep an eye on Wells who was scrubbing the last of the dishes before putting them into the washer. “They could at least soak the bowls. I tell them, time and time again, dried-on food sticks. The dishwasher won't get it out, but do they ever listen.” Watching him shaking his head as he spoke, Mona was reminded of her grandmother. The old biddy had never thought anyone else could do anything right. 

Wells pulled off the gloves with a snap and set them out to dry by the sink. The apron and cap he hung in a pantry. “After four already?” Wells glanced at the dishwasher before walking over to a whiteboard and staring to write: Unload dishwasher before using. I mean it. Don't just pull dishes out to use and then put them back dirty before taking out the clean ones. I'm serious this time.

Mona looked toward the back door. Rico wasn't there. She'd have to stall. Stepping into the kitchen, she said, “There you are Mr. Wells” as if it weren't at all unusual for her to show up on his campus unannounced just hours before dawn. 

He stared as if he didn't recognize her. At least he wasn't sounding an alarm. “Do I know you? Are you one of the new Slayers? Because that rule about no snacks after midnight? That's a real rule and not a suggestion, I mean unless you've been out patrolling really late in which case, I mean, you could make yourself a snack but I'm going to have to insist that you clean up after …”

Wells fell to the floor. Rico's cudgel, the one he'd struck Wells with, vanished into a pocket. 

“Did you have to knock him out?” 

“Trust me. If he is a mage, this is safer.” Draped across Rico's shoulder, Wells looked like a rag doll being dragged around by a bear. “Come on,” Rico added. “Let's find out what he knows.”


	23. Sparks in the Darkest of Caves

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Taming prompt: ooze
> 
> Time moves more slowly in this demon dimension

Will sat there stroking Buffy's red hair. It wasn't appropriate. He knew that. This was the girl he'd raped. Tried to rape Millay would say, as if that made a difference. It wasn't appropriate for him to hold her but she'd passed out after being thrown into the cell and he certainly didn't want her resting against the dank walls. And he'd been afraid for so long, alone and afraid. It felt like he'd been trapped for months. Based on the how often they'd fed him, it had been weeks, but it felt like forever. So who could blame him if he reached out for a little comfort even if he did know it'd end badly. 

When she came to her senses, she'd, well, come to her senses. She must have been raving when she'd been dumped into the cell. She'd sounded, almost, like she'd been glad to see him but that must have been the drugs talking. Given how quickly and deeply she'd passed out, they must have given her something to keep her quiet. Once she woke it'd be like that other time. Not that he was going to hold jagged glass to her throat, but she'd remember it and be afraid. Maybe she'd lash out and smack him around. His image was of her cowering, but he didn't think of her as the type to tremble in fear. While he had the chance, Will reached for what comfort he could. He held her close and waited for her to wake. 

It took quite a while but her first words were coherent, better than his had been when he'd woken up in the cell. “Ugh, what happened?”

He should say something but until he knew how she'd react to him Will couldn't bring himself to speak. 

As she sat up on her own, Will pulled his hands back, certain she wouldn't want him touching her. She wobbled a bit and had to reach her hands out to the wall to steady herself. “Ugh, oozy,” she said as she pulled her hands off of the greenish-gray ooze that clung to the dank stone. “Oozy, whoozy.” She was wobbling so much that he put his hands to her shoulders to straighten her out.

That got her attention. As she turned to look, Will braced himself for a blow. He didn't get it. “Spike? Oh thank Goddess, we found you.” He found himself wrapped in another hug as he sat there stiff as a board. How could she be glad to see him? As she sat back, she looked surprised, as if she hadn't expected he wouldn't hug her in return. Then she took in their surroundings. “Torchlight. Not quite as nice as candlelight, but I like the ambiance. So, what are we doing in a dungeon?” 

She was showing the same unexpected calm that Will had felt when he'd first awoken. Of course she didn't know about the people who didn't look exactly human yet, and he didn't know how to tell her. “What's the last thing you remember?”

“We were in a cafe and, oh Goddess.”

“What?”

“Morgan, your friend, I knocked him out.”

What could Morgan have done to offend her? Granted he was an imbecile, but he was more annoying than outright dangerous.

“And then there was that woman, uh, Ash? She gave me a drink and, stupid me, I drank it.”

“Ash got you too, eh?”

“Seems like. Who is she?”

“A friend. I thought.”

She didn't seem to have a response to that. Instead she asked where they were.

“Don't know.” No, that sounded too stark, like he didn't want to talk. “I woke up in the cell.”

“Hmm, Xander saw me taken so they'll be looking for us, but we should still try to get ourselves out.” 

Ah, that's why she wasn't castigating him for that past attack. They were prisoners together. Once they were out, then she'd have nothing more to do with him. The thought left Will feeling unexpectedly hurt.

“Do you know how many demons there are? Can you hear them or smell them or something?”

“Demons?” Bugger, I've got another crazy one. Another crazy one? Where had that thought come from?

Her eyes widened as if he's surprised her. “Oh, Xander had said … You really do have amnesia?”

He wasn't sure how much he should give away but they were in this together. Will nodded.

She struck out at his neck. “Hey, get off.”

“Spike, stop it. I want to check your pulse.”

What the? Check his pulse? He kept still but kept a wary eye on her.

“Oh, by Ishtar's round firm tits, you are human.”

Demons? Human? Maybe Ash hadn't drugged her after all. Maybe she liked the hard stuff a touch too much. “Look, Buffy …”

“Buffy? I'm not Buffy.”

Wait. What?

“Oh, right, amnesia. I'm Willow, but of course you'd remember Buffy. Why wouldn't you? She just betrayed you with your Sire. It's not like I'd ever hurt you. I mean, except that almost ending the world bit, oh or taking your memories but of course that wasn't just your memories or that time when I made you think you loved Buffy but then of course it turned out that you did.”

It seemed he knew how to handle crazy. He took Willow into his arms and shushed at her until she quieted down. “I didn't remember Buffy. Xander mentioned the name. I have a memory of you, and I just put the name together with the face.”

“Oh, well that's okay then.” Her face lit up. “You remembered me before you remembered Buffy?” Crazy as a loon. Definitely. 

And then it hit him. He'd tried to rape Buffy. Before, when he thought Willow was Buffy, he could pretend that had been a one time kind of a deal. But now he knew it wasn't. Holding the glass bottle to Willow's throat was something else, a separate event. He'd attacked two women, at least two. God, what kind of a monster was he?


	24. Of Pepperoni and Cocoa Nibs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: outcast  
> Cell phone tune: Dragon Age: Inquisition "The Dawn Will Come"
> 
> Apparently that bit about needing NY water to make NY pizza (or bagels) [isn't true](http://www.iflscience.com/chemistry/what-does-new-york-have-best-bagels). Who knew?

The Slayers must have ordered pizza. It made sense. Andrew might not be a teen anymore but even now he'd live on pizza if he could. Well, okay, maybe not all the time because Chinese or Thai made for a nice change of pace, but pizza was really good, and quick, and convenient to split up with the grabbing at the slices and not having to figure out who ordered which little box of food. But what he couldn’t get was why they'd piled the empty boxes into a maze. The boxes towered above him and he had to squeeze himself through. Something was after him, something fast, something big like a bear although he couldn't see how a bear could squeeze through such tiny passageways. Every turn showed more pizza boxes piled as high as the eye could see, leaving only one path to follow. Behind him Andrew could hear boxes tumbling. Was that how the bear was moving so fast, by shoving boxes out of its way? Why hadn't he thought of that but it was too late. He'd run into a dead end and the beast was just around the corner. 

“Aaaah!” When he woke, the bear was still there. 

“We haven't given you anything to scream about yet.” 

The man was big, as big a bear of a man as he'd been in Andrew's nightmare, although he hadn't really gotten a good look at the bear in his dream so he wasn't sure how he knew they were the same size. Andrew found himself seated on a chair but not tied up or anything which was nice. Behind the beast of a man, Andrew saw pizza boxes piled up on a ledge. The ovens were off but the place still smelled of pizza. Actually it smelled better than the 'za they usually ordered. “Hey, is this a pizza place? Because we usually order from Tony's New York pizza but I'm not sure it really is New York pizza because we're all the way on the other side of the country and I've heard that for it to be authentic New York pizza you have to use New York water. What kind of water do you use? Do you do any of those really weird toppings because some of the girls like really odd stuff. I mean, they aren't as bad as Dawn and did you know you can get chocolate on pizza? Not chocolate chips or anything but those little cocoa nibs. I'm a peperoni only kind of a guy because, really, pepperoni is the only authentic pizza topping. Okay, maybe onions or jalapeno along with the pepperoni, but that’s it. Do you offer discounts? We usually get discounts at …”

“Enough!” Andrew really hoped that guy wasn't a beast, but you couldn't tell from the way he bellowed. 

And maybe he should try dealing with someone who wasn't a scary guy. Andrew turned to the woman, the dame that is, the babe, a hot little number with legs that ran for miles, a face to make the angels sing, and a voice … “Hey, don't I know you? You look really familiar but I can't think of where from. It wasn't a dark alley, was it?”

“Outside of my doctor's office. You and your students were running through a play.”

“Oh yeah, how're you doing?”

“We're looking for a man.”

“You'll get nothing from me, coppers.”

“Coppers?” The beast man – he must the the muscle, the thug, which made the skirt the brains of the outfit – didn't seem to like being called a copper.

“Uh, kidnappers?”

The thug cracked his knuckles. 

“Uh, I'm a man, or I mean sort of, or no, I don't mean sort of 'cause I'm a real man but I'm not a specific man that is if you're looking for someone specific and not a man in general. This doesn't have to do with any kind of a ritual, does it?”

The dame's hand, slammed against the metal of the counter, left a sort of musical note ringing in the air. She pulled her hand away, leaving a headshot, a photo, a black and white, staring back at Andrew. The hair was longer than he was used to and not bleached, but he recognized the mug straight off. “I'm pretty sure I don't know him.” He wasn't going to give Spike away. He wasn't. He wasn't. But then the goon growled. “Oh, Spike. Sure I know Spike. We've been looking for him.”

The beauty and the beast looked at each other. “You don't have him?”

“No. We did. Well, no, we didn't. I mean Xander saw him but that was about it because before Xander could make contact he was arrested and taken down to the big house, the slammer, the can, the clink, the cooler, shut up in solitary confinement, sent down the river …”

The woman leaned over him, in really close. Even though she was small, up this close she was scarier than the thug. “Will went looking for you.”

“Will?” Why was she bringing Willow into it? Was she going after Willow too? She'd get a big surprise there, what with Willow's big magic mojo, unless she already knew about the magic mojo. In either case, he needed to keep her busy, distracted, far from the completion of her nefarious plan. And also to give the Slayers time to find him. “Willow's was a tragic love. Outcast from love by the death of her soulmate, Tara, the girl Willow met in college, her first kiss, her first love, her first romance. The force of their love drew them together from across the campus to activities room 12-C where they fell in love at their first glance, when their eyes first met ..”

“Not Willow. Who the hell's Willow? Him.” The doll tapped the photo. 

Oh, Will as in William as in the Bloody. That made more sense.

“He went to Mr. Harris' hotel,” the dame continued, “and now Will is missing. We know you have him.”

“No, no, there's been no having. He went to see Xander but then he ran off. Spike, I mean, not Xander, and we have no idea where he is, Spike I mean. I know where Xander went.” Maybe he shouldn't have said that. What if they went after Xander next. They're looking for Spike. Talk about Spike. “Spike's was a tragic love. An outcast, spurned by his one true love, by the woman he'd adored for over a hundred years, by Drusilla the mad Seeress, who'd taken one look at the lovelorn poet and had chosen him for her Childe. Although some say Angelus was Spike's Sire, I don't …”

“How many years?” The skirt had a voice you could chisel ice with. 

“Are you messing with us little man?” the thug growled.

“No, no. I'd never mess with someone as scary as you.”

A song rang out from his jacket pocket. “Shadows fall, and hope has fled. Steel your heart. The dawn will come.” Andrew pulled out his cell. “Hey, I have to take this. Do you mind waiting? What's up Dawnster?”

“Andrew, I'm in Sunnydale. I need you to come get me.”

“Uh, I'm sort of tied up right now. Do you think you could call Xander? Oh, and Willow's in town. Maybe she could teleport you back.”

“Tied up? You've been kidnapped again.”

“No, I'm not tied up. Did I say tied up?”

“Andrew, I can tell when you've been kidnapped.”

“Well, it's not like you've never been kidnapped.”

The thug grabbed the cell and crushed it. His fists were big, really big. And strong. “Please don't kill me.”

“Kill you?” The thug slapped him on the shoulder. “I'm not gonna kill you, not unless I have to. I like you. Too many schmucks want all kinds of weird crap on their pizza. Not everybody gets that the only true topping is pepperoni.”


	25. Testosterone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Taming prompt: smirk

Xander didn't have enough of a warning to stop Willow. Ever since Kennedy had dumped her, or no, it went further back than that. Ever since Willow had realized Kennedy couldn't replace Tara, she'd smirk this 'I am powerful and you cannot harm me' grin just before doing something terribly reckless. He'd had just enough time to shout “Willow. No!” before she'd taken a big gulp of the tea that other girl, that Ash, had brought her. That left him with Morgan who was glancing around the cafe as if he thought the girls would pop out from behind one of the ubiquitous sunflowers.

“Hey, where'd Ash go?”

“Are you stupid or just stoned?” Or are you in on it?

Someone snickered from another table. Apparently the stupid crack had hit home. 

“What? Did they run off to the little girls' room together or something?”

The little girls'? No way. There was no way he could be that stupid. They'd up and vanished right before his eyes. Oh, this guy was definitely in on it. Xander slammed a fist into his face. “What'd you do with her?”

Morgan rose to his feet and he kept rising and rising and, okay, the guy was tall but he was wiry with no muscles to speak of. Xander could take him. Probably. “What the hell was that for?” Morgan shouted. 

“What'd you do with my friend?”

“Your friend? What about Ash? What'd you do?”

And then that manager guy, who hadn't really backed off when Ash had stepped in, was between them. “Take it outside.”

“Dave, man, he did something to Ash.”

With the sigh of someone who's done this far too many times Dave asked, “Done what?”

“I don't know. She's gone. His friend did something to her.”

The whole cafe was watching by then. “Those two girls did split pretty quick.”

“Didn't they run to the ladies?”

Dave called out two of the waiters. “Check the restrooms. Check the kitchen.” The girls weren't in either. “Okay, I don't know what's up but I want the two of you out.” Morgan looked as if he was about to argue. “Hey, if she'd been dragged out of here, someone would have seen it. Out.”

Morgan bolted for the door and Xander chased after. “Hey, you're not getting away that easy.”

He caught up just outside the cafe. Morgan was standing there, shouting Ash's name. Okay, maybe the dolt didn't know what was up, but Xander wasn't letting him go anyway. The dolt was his only lead. “Just so you know, I'm not letting you out of my sight.”

“Yeah? I'm not letting you go either, not until I know what's up with Ash.”

“Good, 'cause I'm not losing you.” And I've got backup. Xander pulled out his cellphone. There had to be some Slayers patrolling nearby. 

Before he could pull up a number, tinny music blared out of his cell. “I am awoken. The spell it has been broken, went through the cold, cold wind of the eastern snow.”

“Dawn? Kinda busy.” 

“Yeah, yeah, I know. Andrew's been kidnapped.”

“Andrew's been what?”

“But here's the thing.” She went on as if she hadn't heard him. “One of Glory's minions found me. We're in Sunnydale. Well not in Sunnydale proper, beside the crater.”

Glory? Shit. Just what they needed, another apocalypse. “Dawn? Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I knocked him out, but I don't know how long he'll stay out. Send Willow to teleport me out of here.”

“Sorry, but Willow's missing. You'll have to come home the regular way. I'll send some of the Slayers to pick you up.” Ah, and Morgan backed away a step at the mention of Slayers. Xander knew he was in on this.

“Tell them to hurry. Oh, and I hear you found Spike. Send him too. I need someone to yell at and if he's been hiding from us for the past six years …”

“Ah, no can do. Spike's also missing.” No need to go into the amnesia. “But we've got one of their guys.”

“Don't torture him until I get there.”

“I can't make any promises, Dawnie. We sooner we get the info out of him, the sooner we get everybody back.” All the color bleached out of Morgan's face. He took off running. “Gotta go.”

He was fast but Xander was better at dodging through a crowd. He caught up to Morgan within a half a block and tackled him to the ground. “Oh no you don't.” Xander had put Morgan into an arm-lock and dragged him to his feet when the cops showed up. 

“Nobody move. Oh, it's you.”

“You?” Xander asked. “You as in me or you as in him?”

“You as in you. Took you in just the other night. Got out rather fast, didn't you?”

“Hey, it was legit.”

“Sure, sure, but here you are causing trouble again. I've got a report of a missing woman.”

“He did it,” Morgan interjected. “He took my friend.”

“I did not. How could I have taken her and still be here?” He decided not to bring Willow into it. The easier he kept it, the more likely the cops would drop it.

“His friend. The red head. She took Ash!” Or Morgan could just muck it up. 

The two cops looked at each other. “Right. We've got a complaint from a local business. We've got a possible missing person. You two are coming with us.”

“Hey, I get a phone call,” Morgan shouted as the cop cuffed him.

“Sure. One call each. Back at the station.”


	26. Misunderstandings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Taming Prompt: consanguineal

After Xander had hung-up on her, Dawn stared at her cell. Andrew's kidnapping she could understand. It sort of seemed like every other week some, well, thing took Andrew. But Willow? Miss mega-powered witch? And how did someone take Spike? He wasn't even supposed to be alive or he wasn't supposed to be undead or whatever, but still. He pops back into existence and, pow, he's kidnapped? That was worse than Andrew even. Was she the only one who could take-out a kidnapper?

“You can't leave.”

Dawn in no way squeaked as she spun. The hippie was still on the ground but awake now and sitting up. Actually, now that she had a chance to look at him, she wasn’t sure hippie was the right word. The hair was hippie-ish, all long and in dreadlocks, but he had on some kick-ass boots and she was pretty sure hippies didn't wear t-shirts with the word Anarchy splashed across the front. Dawn shifted her book-bag off of her shoulder. Hey, it had taken him out once although now he'd probably be expecting it. She didn't have any other weapon though so she'd have to make do with what she had. “You're working for Glory.”

“Oh, hey, no way. I don't go for all that personal aggrandizement. You gotta be humble, stick to your roots, you know.”

“Are you stoned?” No, it didn't matter. “You want me to open the gate.”

“Well, yeah.” He was smiling up at her as if they weren't talking about taking a knife to her. “I know you don't want to, but it's the only way. The desire is strong in that one. There's cunning there, and trickery. Can't be left hanging. All Hell will break loose. Have to search. Have to find.”

“You can just count me out. The Slayers'll be here soon and then you'll be sorry.”

He jumped to his feet, suddenly looking a lot scarier than he had before. “No. Don't you get it? It'll take out everything. The Omega to the Alpha. End of the line. Bye bye birdie. Sayonara. Ciao and ttfn, ta ta for now.”

“Yeah, I do get it. Glorificus gets to go home but takes everything to Hell with her. No way.”

“Glorificus?” He shook his head. “Oh man, he wouldn't be in her dimension. The Three Sisters wouldn’t go near that place even if Glorificus could go home, which she can't, being dead and all.”

“Glory's dead?”

“Robert, Ribbit, Rupert, the young goat only not so young anymore, jumped into action, dimming his shining aura, tarnishing his shield by snuffing out the life of the God.”

Giles killed Glory? “I don't believe you. Even my sister couldn't kill her.”

“Sister? There is no sister.” Oh God, what had he done to Buffy? “You're not consanguineal. You're alone. You partake of all the realms. It's how you open the way.”

“I am not alone. I have a sister and she's a Slayer and she's going to kick your butt so hard you'll never sit down again.”

He grabbed her wrist, the one holding her book-bag. 

“Hey, let go.”

And he did. Dawn took three steps back even though he didn't look like he was going to attack. He was in more of a staring off at nothing kind of a place. “Pledged to God and born to the lord of a merry star.” His face had gone sort of white as if he were about to faint. “They stole your power? Oh, man, that's going to make everything so much harder.”

“I have not been pledged to any God.” She raised the book-bag in case he came near her again. “There will be no sacrificing me.”

“The chosen one, the lamb, is already in the fold if not the abattoir. The veil between the worlds is thinner here but not thin enough. If you had your full power, you could do it, but diminished as you are? The cork must be popped. The power will help you find the lad.”

“Hey, there will be no cork popping. Um, find the lad?”

He nodded. “Bloody but no longer. The demon, long gone, has taken the memories with him but they will return and once they do …” He ran a finger across his neck. “ … the lamb will be taken to the killing field and death will come.”

“Wait, this sacrifice, it's not me? It's Spike?”

“William, Willahelm, protector, guardian of the desired one. Vampire but now human. Shanshu. The unblemished calf. The lamb. The sacrifice.”

“And you want to stop it? You want to save Spike?”

“Well yeah, little chica. He's down with Millay who lives in my building. You gotta watch out for your own. That's why we have to pull off the twisty tie.”

Great, not only could she not trust him, she couldn't even understand him. “Pull off the twisty tie?”

“Pop the cork. Open the present.” He seemed to be struggling and when he spoke again it was something she understood even if it didn't make sense. “Open the Hellmouth.”

“Open the Hellmouth? Are you nuts? Do you know how hard it was to close? And Spike, he died closing the Hellmouth. He wouldn't want it opened again.”

He sighed as if she were being the unreasonable one. “You're hooked now, anchored, tied to this world. You can't shuffle the deck for the right card, not without the extra power.”

“Shuffle the deck? You mean search through a bunch of dimensions to find Spike? I can't do that!”

He shook his head sadly. “Not if you don't think you can.” And then he vanished. 

Dawn spun around, back-pack at the ready, in case he popped back in. When he didn't, she wasn't sure if she was relieved or upset. She still didn't trust him, but she really didn't want to be alone at the side of the Hellmouth, even if it had been closed.


	27. We Are the Hollow Men

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I found I needed a scene between Will and Willow in the dungeon, so this is written out of order. It doesn't fit into the timeline quite as well as I'd like, but I was posting this week by week for a friend who said she'd be in the hospital and needed something to take her mind off of things, meaning there was no overall revision.

Will had moved the jug of water to the center of the cell. The walls were dank, oozing with who the hell knew what, and he didn't want anything contaminating their water. One thing, among many, that he couldn't get used to: no matter how much he drank, the jug remained full. Except he wasn't letting himself think about that. He didn't believe in magic – no matter what the red-head, Willow, said – but he couldn't see how the trick was being played. Perhaps they'd drugged him. Perhaps the whole situation was an elaborate hallucination. It felt real though. Sitting, shackled to the wall for days on end was too dull to be some kind of a vision.

Two bowls appeared next to the jug. Will wasn't sure how often they were being fed, but if it was three meals a day then Willow had been dumped into the cell with him just over a day ago. Her eyes were closed but she must have been awake. As soon as the bowls appeared, she spoke. “Please tell me it's not more mush. I'm sick of mush. I've had Lagosta Rosada Grelhada at Térèze in Rio. I've sipped at two-hundred year old whiskey while gazing at the stars from inside a dolmen circle near Carrowmore. I've danced 'till dawn at Burning Man. This ascetic life is not my style.”

“Asceticism isn't a style. It's a spiritual calling.”

She still hadn't opened her eyes. “So what's this then?”

“Torture.”

With that, she looked at him. “No. Trust me. This really, really isn't torture.” Willow glanced down at the mush before turning her head away. “It is bad enough though.”

He didn't like the mush any more than she did, but that was no reason to give up. “You have to eat.”

“Why?”

“To keep your strength up. In case we get a chance to escape.”

“You sound pretty confident we'll get out of here.”

He didn't try to hide his sarcasm. “I live in hope.”

“What makes you think we have reason to be hopeful?”

“I was found by the Sunnydale crater. I had nothing, not even my memories. If I hadn't been carrying a wallet, I wouldn't have even had a name. Charlie, part of the ER team that found me, took me in and gave me a place to stay, only it wasn't just someplace I could hang my hat. It was a home. Out of the ashes of that crater, I found a home, friends, a family, a lover.” He paused a moment. “Even if it didn't last. But what I mean to say is this: my life is full. So whatever crater you're in, once we're out of this mess, you can climb on out too.”

“You don't remember how bad it can get. You don't know what low is.”

Will gestured to the cell that contained them and the shackles chaining him to the wall. “What makes you think your life is worse than mine?”

“I lost my baby.”

Oh, he just had to go and put his foot in it, didn't he? “You lost a daughter?”

She looked as if he'd shocked her. Should he have kept quiet? “No, Tara, my lover.”

Who called her lover 'baby'?

“The most beautiful girl in the world,” Willow continued. “Dead. A stray bullet. And then Kennedy came along, but she came too soon and pushed too hard. I could have loved her – I think I could have loved her – but it was too soon. I was still grieving for Tara, and so I cheated on Kennedy and lost her too. Now I just jump. Place-to-place. Lover-to-lover. Bed-to-bed.”

No wonder she sounded so dead. She didn't have a life. She was merely running away. “That sounds … hollow.”

“What do you mean, hollow?” She sounded almost curious.

“As in Eliot's The Hollow Men.” He recited the first stanza:  
_We are the hollow men_  
 _We are the stuffed men_  
 _Leaning together_  
 _Headpiece filled with straw. Alas!_  
 _Our dried voices, when_  
 _We whisper together_  
 _Are quiet and meaningless_  
 _As wind in dry grass_  
 _Or rats' feet over broken glass_  
 _In our dry cellar_

“Ah, empty. Yes.”

“You have friends. That Alex guy. Why don't you go to them?”

She gestured to the cell.

“Why didn't you then? Before you were imprisoned.”

He thought she might say she'd always been imprisoned, trapped in a cage of her own making, but she surprised him with honesty. “I don't like them to see me like this. No, I mean … yeah, that is what I meant.”

He could see that it had taken courage for her to admit she'd been hiding from her friends. “But you don't just give up. Sometimes you have to fight for your life.”

“There's nothing I want to fight for.”

“Tell me about her,” he said. “About Tara.”

“She's dead.”

“How'd you meet?”

She didn't want to talk but he kept at her. It wasn't as if he had anything better to do. “ … and then her Dad came and told her she had to go back with him because it was her birthday and he'd told her all her life that she was a demon and she'd start hurting people so she had to go home where she could be controlled.”

“She was a demon?” Not that he believed in demons, or he probably didn't believe in demons, but Willow did seem to.

“No!” Talking about Tara had certainly revived Willow. “No. Her father had told her she was a demon, but she wasn't. He was just trying to control her, to beat her down.”

“Did she go back with him?”

“No, we stood up for her. We protected her, and he couldn't take her away.

He wanted to say she was down but you helped her out, but he figured Willow was already there. No need to hammer home the obvious. “You saved her.”

His words took Willow over the edge. She started crying and herself into his arms. “Shhh,” he said, patting at her back. “Let it out. You've got to let it out.”


	28. Let's Do the Time Warp Again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Fugacious
> 
> When he says fugacious, Will is quoting a poem: [' [ Late August ] ' - Poem by Ency Bearis](http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/late-august-2/).

“Spike? What's wrong?” Granted, they'd been kidnapped by demons and dumped in a dungeon, but there was no reason, as far as Willow could see, for Spike to curl up in a corner. Oh, wait, Spike was human now and had amnesia. Maybe human Spike wasn't comfortable with weirdness, which was weird in and of itself given that whole devoted to Drusilla for a hundred years thing he'd had going on. Of course if he didn't remember Drusilla and he didn't remember demons, this would all seem kind of strange, but he'd lived with strange for so long you think it'd be ingrained into his psyche or something even if not his memories.

“What's wrong?” 

Okay, and he wigging pretty badly given that look of shock. Maybe she'd better go slowly with the explanations. 

“I raped Buffy. I held a broken bottle to your throat. How can you stand to be near me?”

Oh. That. “You didn't rape Buffy. I mean, you tried but …” Okay, and maybe that wasn't the best way she could have worded that. 

He dropped his head into his hands.

“Spike?” She tried a comforting pat to his shoulder. He recoiled further into the corner. “It's … You weren't yourself back then. You were …” Probably not the best time to bring up vampires and souls. “You were the way you were but you've changed since then. Reformed.” Okay, that didn't do any good. “Um, I know you're upset and all but we are in danger here. Maybe we could work together and worry about who you used to be later?”

When he looked up, he was wiping tears away. Spike crying? Okay, and now the world was officially wacky. “What do you think we can do? Door's locked.” He suddenly looked ashamed, as if his words were too mean or something. Willow felt like sighing. This Spike was going to take some getting used to.

Still, what could they do? He wasn't a vampire any more so he couldn't break down the door and that drink had messed with her magic. Get information, that was the first step. The more you know, the more you know. She didn't remember coming to the cell and she'd woken in his arms so she'd probably been knocked out. “How long was I unconscious?”

“I'm not sure but based on how often they're feeding us, a day and a half.”

That long? “Well, Xander was there when I was taken but we'd already been searching for you almost a whole day. It shouldn't be taking this long to find us.”

“A day?” Spike slumped against the wall which was sort of oozy but he didn't seem to notice. “Took you that long? Guess I should be glad you came looking at all.”

“Well, I had to fly in from Pittsburgh which took up more than half a day so maybe it's been only, like, three-quarters of a day that we've been searching but we started in right away. I flew back as soon as you went missing so don't you go feeling sorry for yourself Mister.”

He shook his head. “And the other eight or nine days?”

“What other days?”

“I've been missing more than a week, or did your friend Xander forget to mention that?”

“What? No. It's been a day-and-a-half or, okay, maybe closer to two, but that was before I was taken. We can't have been down here that long.” Willow looked for her bag. Shoot, it'd been dropped in the cafe. “Oooh, do you have your cell on you?”

“Doesn't work down here. I turned it off to save the battery.”

“But you could, you know, check the date.”

It seemed to take forever for the cell to power up. “But summer still taking what it brings, the August incense with fugacious wings.”

“What was that?”

“Would you rather I'd said 'time is fleeting. Madness takes its toll'?” He shook his head. “I just meant it's taking longer than I'd like.” He looked back down at the cell. “And here it comes … June 21st? But … but the 20th was just yesterday. That can't be. I've been here over a week.”

“Oh.” That's why Xander hadn't found them yet. “It must be another dimension, one where time moves more slowly.”

“Another what?”

Ooops, had she used her outside voice? Maybe she should explain now. Once they escaped, he was going to see the demons anyway. “Um, it's kind of hard to explain.”

“Start with why you thought I wouldn't have a pulse.”

He was going to have to know sooner or later. “Magic's real. Or, no, I mean, yes magic is real but that's not what I should have started with. Demons are real.”

“Demons. As in monsters.”

“Well, yeah, most of them are monsters, evil I mean.”

“So you thought I was, what? A zombie?”

“More like a vampire actually.”

“A vampire?” And okay, she shouldn't have expected him to get it right off. 

“You used to be but now you're not which is bad, I mean it's good you're human and all, but you had to shanshu to do it which means now these demons can use you to end the world, which is bad.”

“Right.” He drew out the word. “I'm a vampire except I what? Got better? And those three skinny chicas are demons? Which makes you that Slayer they were talking about?”

What was his obsession with Buffy? Geez, even with amnesia he couldn't let it go. “No, I'm a witch.” Okay, and that didn't sound convincing.

“A witch.” Yep, so not convinced.

“Yeah, I am a witch and I'd prove it except that drink messed with my magic.”

“That drink? From a day-and-a-half ago.”

Oh. Yeah. Maybe her magic was back. She tried a simple spell and, hey what did you know? The door came unlocked. “Come on. We can get out of here.”

He pulled at a chain, one that shacked his ankle to the wall. She tried the spell again. When the shackle fell to the floor, he looked up real quick. “How'd you do that?” Guess that showed him.


	29. Twister

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Taming prompt: twister

“Right hand. Red.” It was just as well that Maria's right hand had already been on a red circle. She was arching over Yakone who was stretched out two-thirds of the way across the board. Izzy, at the far end, shared only one circle with the other two players. 

The idea to practice fighting from the ground had come out of an injury. After one of the Slayers had been tossed five feet by a demon, she'd jumped back to her feet too quickly, leaving her open to attack by a second demon. She'd survived and healed but Andrew had decreed that they'd start training to fight from awkward positions. Tess had thought he was joking when he'd told her to incorporate the game Twister. It had worked although not in the way anyone had expected. 

Tess spun the dial and shouted “Attack.” Andrew had made a few adjustments to the game. Dara ran forward, swinging her staff.

The original rules had set the game up as a competition: the Slayer who took down the attacker while keeping hands and feet on the most circles won. About a week earlier the three Slayers on the board had changed the game. 

Maria, the most unstable of the three because she was stretched over Yakone, sacrificed herself – losing all her circles completely – by pushing off of the board and rolling into the oncoming Slayer. Dara leaped over Maria and struck the staff down toward Yakone. Maria, who'd rolled off the board, was out of the game, but as Dara leaped up to avoid the legs Yakone had swept out toward hers, Izzy knocked the staff up and away from Yakone. Having missed the strike, Dara took a flying roll, over the other two Slayers, off of the mat, turned, and bowed. Maria, standing on the other side of the mat, bowed back while Izzy and Yakone nodded. 

A week earlier, these three Slayers – Izzy, Yakone, and Maria – had started working as a team. Nobody was sure how they were doing it. They weren't using telepathy but they were responding as a unit rather than as three individual Slayers. Tess was hoping, with Willow in town, that the witch might offer some insight.

“All right. Good defense. Maria, back into position.” Tess' cell started playing a tune she'd been told was from the Sgt. Fury soundtrack. It was an odd time for Xander to be calling. At this hour she'd expect him to be asleep like the rest of the staff. “What's up?”

“Bunch of stuff.”

Since Xander couldn't see her, Tess went ahead and rolled her eyes. One time, One Time, she'd taken an order and had hung up before getting the rest and no one was ever going to let her live it down. 

“First, send someone to pick up Dawn from the Sunnydale crater. Oh, and there's a hostile aboard although I think she has it under control.”

“Buffy's sister. Sunnydale crater. Send a crew. Got it.” Izzy, obviously guessing this might take a while, stretched out into a more comfortable position. 

“Willow's been nabbed.”

“Willow? Nabbed?” She had the attention of all four Slayers. Izzy and Yakone rose to their feet while Dara started spinning her staff in an attack kata. 

“Yeah, get a couple of witches over to The Sunflower. It's near where we took out that nest of vamps the other night.”

“Witches. The Sunflower. Check for magical and demonic traces. On it.” At those words, Izzy ran out of the room. Tess knew, without having to be told, that she was rounding up a couple of their witches.

“And that brings me to my last. I need someone to bail me out.”

“Xander? You've been arrested? Again?”

“No need to tell the world. Oh, wait, you just did. I'll need another guy bailed out too. His name's Morgan, uh, something. Find the last name. He was there when Willow was taken. I'm pretty sure he's a civilian but he's the only lead we've got.”

“Right. I'll send out a couple of squads, one for Dawn and one for you …”

“I don't need a whole squad,” Xander interrupted. 

“Someone just kidnapped the world's most powerful witch. You're getting a squad. Deal with it.” Goddess, but Xander could be an idiot sometimes. “I'll fill in Andrew.” 

“Oh-kay. One more thing then. Andrew's been nabbed. You didn't know?”

“Nabbed along with Willow?” It made sense, sort of. Willow, while protecting Andrew, had left her guard down.

“Ah, no. I don't know who got Andrew. Dawn filled me in.”

“Let me get this straight. The only person who knew Andrew had been taken isn't even in L.A.?”

“Looks like.”

“Forget using board games in sparring practice. What we really need to work on is communication.”


	30. Kokopelli

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Taming prompt: Kokopelli

“The sun'll be up before we even see our bags. I told you we should have gone with carry-ons but, no, Wes had to bring his little demonic relics.” 

Wishing she could shut her ears as easily, Buffy scanned the baggage claim area hoping that Angel would notice she wasn't paying attention and shut the hell up. The demonic relics were important or so Wes had said. Something about cluing them into the apocalypse ritual. 

“Shouldn't Andrew be here already? I don't want to have to spend the day dodging sunlight, but of course if I were Spike I wouldn't have to because I'd have shansued.”

“That's it.” Angel looked surprised when Buffy yelled. “You've been griping for the past fifteen hours. There's no sunlight down here. It's like a basementy area. You're perfectly safe. I'm gonna go see where Wes got to.”

She didn't go find Wes but she did move off by about fifty feet, far enough away that she couldn't hear Angel grumble, but she stupidly looked back long enough to see that he'd gone into a major brood-fest which was, of course, why she hadn't shut him up sooner. As she raised her eyes to the giant screen hanging one level up and showing an ad for The Sound of Music, Buffy thought about how Spike would have handled the sitch. Spike wouldn't have cared. Instead of bitching all the way from Rome to LAX, he'd have been busy making lewd suggestions about joining the mile high club or playing the innocent with the stewardesses while his hand stroked up Buffy's thigh. She could almost feel Spike's eyes on her. The way he used to look at her, it went beyond adoration. It was like he was gazing at the Holy Grail or something, which was sort of creepy given the whole religiousness of that image. 

Up on the screen the hills are alive gave way to a stage, empty except for one figure crouched down low to the floor and completely still except for the feathers on his headdress which were jutting back and forth. As the man rose to his feet he stretched out his arms and his cloak expanded out like great wings of blue and purple and silver. The words Cirque du Solei and Kokopelli, the text displayed above the feathered man, named both the dance troupe and the show. A close-up of the man's face, more blue and silver with feathers rising above giving him an exotic and seductive look, was replaced by two figures dancing. The feathered man, leaping into the air, almost seemed to be flying across the stage. The female, dressed in somebody's idea of native garb, darted across the stage, not leaping as the man did, but her performance was so energetic that Buffy could feel a sympathy ache in her legs just from watching. 

“I hear it's an excellent show.” Wes handed her a cup of coffee. 

“So, Kokopelli,” she replied. “Isn't he that Indian flute guy? American Indian I mean, not Indian Indian.”

“Native American, yes, a deity of the Southwestern tribes but based on ancient Anasazi glyphs.”

The screen had moved on to another ad but Buffy could still see those high cheekbones as well as those eyes edged with liner. It had been a very sexy look, one that reminded her of Spike whom she didn't need to be thinking about. Angel was already antsy enough. “Sort of seductive for a god.”

“The seductiveness is an aspect of his association with fertility.”

“Ugh, fertility? Not so seductive.”

“Oh, I don't know.” His eyes got that far-away thinking about his wife look. Really, you'd think after four years of marriage he wouldn’t go all googly eyed every time he thought of her. Still, it was sort of nice, the romance still being there. “Seeing Fred's round belly, knowing she's carrying my child, it's quite arousing.”

“Okay, if you say so, but wait till you've up for three AM feedings five nights in a row. See how sexy you find it then.”

“I'm sure fatherhood will be rewarding even with the ordeals of three AM feedings.”

A beeping noise came from the baggage chute. “Oh, hey, bags are coming out. I guess we should join Mr. Grumpy-pants at the carousel and why do they call it a carousel anyway? It's not like it'd be a fun ride.”

“As Andrew can account for,” Wes agreed.

“Well, he was sort of fleeing that knish demon at the time.”

“K'nsk.”

“Gesundheit.” 

Wes gave her a glare as they joined Angel who'd grabbed two of their three bags. “Shouldn't our ride be here by now?”

“I'll give Andrew a call.” 

While Wes dialed up Andrew, Buffy stared at Angel. I missed you too, dear, she thought. Not that they'd been apart for long but he could, you know, sort of try to make up from being so broody the entire trip. Spike wouldn't have let some little thing like somebody else shanshuing make him all grouchy and ignorey of the girlfriend. Buffy sighed. Of course Spike wasn't the man, vamp, she loved but, damn, wouldn't life have been easier with him. 

“That's odd.” Wes was staring at his cell as if he'd never seen one before. 

“What?”

“It's Andrew. He isn't answering.”

“Of course he isn't.” Angel, if anything, looked even grumpier. Maybe she should start calling him Eeyore.

“Andrew always picks up,” Buffy said. “Remember that time when we were rappelling into that volcano and the cell rang but he dropped it and he wanted to go after it so he could answer?”

“Well, he's not answering now.”

“There aren't any volcanoes in LA, right?”

“None that I'm aware of,” Wes replied.

“Give Xander a call and see what's up.”

“I'm afraid he isn't answering either.”

“Willow?” Buffy asked.

Wes shook his head.

“You don't think we missed the apocalypse, do you?”


	31. Lair of the White Worm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Taming prompt: Jurassic

It felt as if they'd been skulking for hours. Will had wanted to make a run for it but Willow had insisted they take it slow and stealthy. She was a smart one alright. So far they'd snuck past out a good dozen set of guards without being seen.

Those guards though … Will was starting to believe that Willow hadn't been lying or insane or something with that alternate dimensions chatter. Not in Kansas anymore didn't even begin to cover it. The creatures they'd seen had looked more like insects than men, like stick bugs or something but no bugs were as tall as a man and no bugs wore armor and carried spears. And no men made sounds like that, like a high-pitched chittering. 

They creeped Will the fuck out and he was perfectly happy to put as much distance between himself and them as he possibly could. Hence his preference to get through these tunnels as quickly, not that the tunnels seemed to be leading them anywhere. Paths branched out all over the place down here, tunnels carved out of the living rock it looked like, not rectangular tunnels with nice straight walls. They were more circular, sort of like the tunnels worms might leave behind in the dirt. Will couldn't shake the feeling that these tunnels had been made by something that had eaten through the rock even though that was obviously impossible, just like the buggy guards. 

They passed another set of branching tunnels with guards patrolling the far end. Something about the whole situation seemed off, something apart from the buggy guards and Willow's talk of dimensions, something he couldn't put his finger on. “How long do you think our luck'll hold?”

Willow gave him a quick look but kept moving. “What do you mean?”

“We've seen patrols down most of these tunnels. There's been one clear path for us to take but sooner or later that's got to change. We can't keep slipping past them forever.”

“One clear path?” She actually stopped moving which Will wasn't all that thrilled with. The only out of this horror show was ahead of them or at least that was the hope. “Oh, you mean it's like they've been leading us along, making us come this way?”

Shit, he hadn't thought of it quite like that but now that she'd brought it up, it was clear that's exactly what was happening. “What do we do?”

She shrugged. “Keep going. Hope you're wrong.”

“Bloody wonderful.”

Willow started stopping them when they came to branching tunnels. It was as if she was checking her theory. Unfortunately, nothing disproved it. There were guards at the far edge of every tunnel they passed. Either these tunnels were heavily guarded and they'd just been lucky so far or they were being herded someplace, and Will didn't believe in that kind of luck.

The torches ran out with the tunnel at the edge of a cavern which was dark and, presumably, echoey. Will wasn't about to shout into it to find out. “Now what?”

A chittering came from behind them and the shadows were shrinking as if the light were coming closer. “We either let the guards catch up or go forward.” Willow pulled two torches off the wall and handed him one. “Come on.”

The torches did little to dispel the darkness. “Shouldn't we stick to the walls? I feel sort of out in the open here in the middle of the cave.”

“We can find an exit faster from here.” She raised her torch high and turned in a circle, scanning the entire cave. “There.”

Her finger pointed out a dark hole in the side of the cave. 

“You sure about this?” he asked. 

“Hell no but it's not like we have much choice.”

“That's what worries me.”

The cavern was so silent that their footfalls sounded loudly. “Looks like the guards have given up,” he said, hoping to disturb the uneasy silence.

“Shhh.”

The darkness felt heavy and alive. Will pictured himself and Willow as tiny ants walking into a Venus Flytrap. The lack of guards behind him, the darkness, the stillness of the air, they all felt like a trap snapping shut. It was all too unnerving and so he focused on Willow's back as she led the way, forcing himself to keep his gaze on the gold threads that were sparkling in the torchlight. When she stopped, he almost crashed into her. “What?”

He followed her gaze and the floor seemed to drop out below his feet. That thing was nothing natural. It was big, really big, so big that it couldn't be real except it was moving, maybe breathing sort of, he couldn't be sure. Its skin was pale, a light gray against the dark wall of the cave, and it definitely wasn't part of the cave like a pale rock or something. It was like creature out of Jurassic Park or, no, more like one of those tick creatures out of that old Godzilla movie except this was bigger and more wormy. Wasn't there some old flick with a giant white worm? And he was babbling. He could hear himself babbling although he thought it was all in his head so probably nobody else could hear it which was good because he didn't know how to stop the babbling. 

“Come on.” When she grabbed his arm and pulled, he screamed. His torch was on the ground. He didn't recall dropping it but there it was on the ground and flickering out. A sound, like that of flesh grinding against stone, filled his ears. The big gray thing rose up and it was a worm and its maw opened and it was full of teeth, rows and rows of teeth. The stench hit him, like blood that had festered for days. Will heard himself gagging but he couldn't take his eyes off of the white worm, but then there was a pull on his arm and they were running and they were in the tunnel and he hoped the worm couldn't follow. 

“What the hell was that?” He sounded hysterical but that was okay because he felt hysterical. At least he wasn't pretending that he was, oh, not hysterical or something.

“Run.”

There was a rumbling behind them. Oh God, the worm did fit in the tunnels. He glanced back and it wasn't the worm but a rock, a round rock rolling down after them, taking out torches right and left. How the hell had he gotten himself into an Indiana Jones movie? 

“Faster.”

They were running all-out but the rumbling got louder as the rock gained on them. Up ahead, wasn't that a … He dodged into the side tunnel, yanking the arm and dragging her with him. She plastered herself against the tunnel as the rock rumbled past. “You OK, Red?”

“Spike?”

“Huh? Not that again.”

“But you called me Red.”

He didn't know where the name had come from. “Your hair's Red,” he offered in explanation.

“But that's what Spike called me, or you called me that when you were Spike or when you remembered you were Spike I mean. You called me Red back then as well. Maybe your memory's coming back.”

She sounded pleased. Will could only think of what those three creepy, uh, things had said. “The witch will restore his memory and then he will face his wyrd.” Whatever this wyrd was, he was pretty sure it was worse than a giant man-eating worm.


	32. Are You Ready to Rumble?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Leash
> 
> The opening quote is from a [Barney Miller episode in which a mailman hasn't delivered the mail in over 7 years](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jFCBu8h7G0k).

“The mail, it's all junk anyway. Living outta third class garbage, stupid greeting cards, boring letters … to people I don't even know.”

Okay so they had a ranting mailman this time but it was just him and a guy crashing in the corner. The holding cell had been a lot worse the last time Xander had been arrested. Granted there wasn't much room, but so far Morgan had given Xander, and the other two guys, as wide a berth as he could. He stood as close to the door as he could and had actually called to the guard – Curtis, a nice guy actually – begging to not be left alone with the hoodlums. 

“Hoodlums? Really?” Xander asked. “I'll have you know I'm in here for the same reasons you are.”

For a guy who'd been ready to brawl earlier, Morgan was looking pretty pale. “But you knew the guard. You've been locked up before.”

“Hey, you don't know that. I could be a lawyer or a court officer or something. Well, okay,” Xander added. “You got me there. But there was absolutely no body so they had to let me go.” 

And that didn't cheer the twit up at all. Good. In the silence that followed, Xander glanced over at the mailman who'd given up ranting to stare at the two of them. Not the best time to bring up Willow's vanishing then. Xander pulled up a bit of bench to wait for the Slayers to bail him out. He'd told them to get Morgan as well. With any luck they'd all be gone before Morgan's crew made an appearance and he'd have Morgan alone in a tiny room, no bigger than this one, where he could ask all the question he wanted for as long as he wanted. 

When Curtis came back, it was for both of them which, good, meant the Slayers had gotten in first. “Harris. Teasdale. You're free to go.”

Apparently feeling more manly now that the cell door was open, Morgan glared when Xander snickered. “Teasdale? Really?” And no, Morgan never had to know about LaVelle. 

Confident that his Slayers wouldn't let Morgan get far, Xander let him run ahead. When he caught up in the booking area, the girl, talking to Morgan, came as a shock. He'd been so certain it'd be Catalina that he stared at the pale skin and flat mousey-blonde hair, so not Catalina's dusky skin and dark curls, and couldn't jibe the girl he saw with the girl he expected. He knew it was Catalina, she had to be Catalina, but there was something wrong, something very wrong and then reality stepped in and smacked him upside the head. This girl wasn't Catalina. She wasn't a Slayer. Shit, Morgan's friend had gotten to them first. 

He stepped forward and held his hand out. “Hi, I'm Xander Harris but I guess you already knew that if you paid my bail. Thank you by the way. ”

And thank you automatic social graces. She took his hand and said, “Millay Adler and you're coming with us.”

Okay, he had a name, well two names given that he knew Morgan's as well. Now all he had to do was contact his Slayers – and really what was keeping them? – and pass the names to his hackers. Xander wondered if he should ditch these two or keep an eye on them. Morgan would be worse than useless in a fight and he could take on Millay so ditching them not so big a deal, but they were his only lead to Willow. On the other hand, getting their names to his own hackers might be important. The girls couldn't do anything with their names if Xander disappeared without sharing them. Stick, he definitely needed to stick. No, go, he should go. Xander was still debating as he followed Millay and Morgan out of the police station. “And don't even think about running off,” Millay said. “I've got friends, see?”

And a bunch of kids skated out of nowhere, or, okay, maybe they weren't kids but they sure as hell weren't adults and none looked anywhere near friendly. 

"That's all right. So does he!" And there was Catalina, late but not out, jumping in at just the right moment with the B5 quote, stepping out of nowhere with a good half-dozen Slayers. They were outnumbered, slightly, by Millay's crew but then Millay's kids weren't Slayers. 

And maybe they could get out without anyone getting hurt but then Rita, who really needed to tone down on the rage, started in. “You tried to take our Xander?”

Oh God, and now the skaters were getting riled up. “Okay, girls, put a leash on it. Let's not start a rumble right outside a police station.”

“You going to let him get away with that?” Shut up, Morgan. Shut up! “He took Ash.”

“I didn't take anyone, obviously, since I'm right here.”

“Your friend, then, that red head, she took Ash.”

“What'd you do with Will?” And great, the skaters hadn't calmed down at all.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. We didn't take anybody. We were looking for Spike, er Will, when Ash ran off with Willow.” And maybe he shouldn't have mentioned that last bit. So much for keeping the Slayers calm. 

“Wait.” Millay raised her hand, palm forward, in a stop position. The skaters didn't really calm down but they weren't charging his Slayers so Xander was calling that a win. “You're saying Ash took Miss Rosenberg?”

How the hell did she know Willow's name? Well, he wasn't giving her any more info, not if he could help it. “Yeah.” One word. Stick to one word. Can't give too much away with one word.

“I left Will with Ash,” Millay said. 

Huh?

“Right before he vanished,” she added patiently. 

“This is fucked up,” Morgan yelled. “Why would Ash …”

“I don't know,” Millay interrupted. “She said he'd left on his own but his GPS had already pegged out.”

“You're just gonna let them go?” 

Millay smirked at Morgan as if that wasn't at all was about to happen. Given that she'd known Willow's name, maybe it wouldn’t. Xander needed his hackers on her ASAP. 

“Let's go,” she called out to her crew. Turning back to Xander, she added, “You're right that we can't talk here. I'll call you.”

“Don't you need my number?” Xander called back.

She punched a button on her cell. His phone started ringing. “Not really.”

“Hackers.” Xander spit out the word as if he were swearing. “Hey, ouch. No need to hit me that hard.”

“Don't dis hacking,” Catalina told him. “You got their names?”

“Yeah, but send a couple of your girls to follow them.”

Man could Catalina say 'you are the stupidest person I've ever met' with just an eye roll. “We're already tailing them.”

Oh, of course they were. “Right. Let's get home. I wanna know who the hell they are.”


	33. Big Rico's Pizzeria

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Taming prompt: Magnum Opus
> 
> The end is in sight. I've just laid out the rest of the scenes and there are 2 to 3 more month's worth unless I add scenes.

“Let me get this straight.” Buffy had taken the centermost of the three leather chairs in Andrew's office. After listening to Angel whine all the way from Rome, she wasn't about to be stuck on the couch with him except that wasn't a problem. Even after the shades had been drawn down, Angel wouldn't enter the office. Fine, if he wanted to brood by the door, he could just do that. “Not only is Spike missing, but Willow has been grabbed by somebody, Xander just got out of jail, and Andrew has vanished.”

“Kidnapped,” Xander said from the couch which he'd commandeered all to his own by sprawling, legs out, along its whole length. “Dawn said he'd been kidnapped.”

“Oh, yeah, and my sister has been up and poofed from Wellesley campus, where she should have been safe and sound, to the Sunnydale crater by some guy we think is working for Glory? And I'm supposed to just sit here?”

“Hey, the Slayers found her all safe and sound. Apparently it wasn't a Glory thing at all.”

“That's supposed to make me feel better?” 

“Uh, well, maybe not.”

“If we could get back to business.” 

“How is my sister being chased by a hellgod not business?” You can't kill Wesley; he's almost a father.

“Current business. Dawn is a sound girl. If she says this has nothing to do with Glory, I believe her.”

“Sure, make me look like the hysterical one.” 

Catalina, head Slayer on campus, was glancing between them all as if she couldn't believe this was the way Council business was run. She should know better. She worked with Andrew after all. “Our hackers haven't found anything on William Platt before the 22nd of May, 2003. He was found outside the Sunnydale crater by ER services and actually moved in with one of the ER crew who found him, which is where he met Millay Adler, cousin to the guy William moved in with. Mogan Teasdale seems to have met William through a poetry club.”

“Poetry club?” 

“Yeah, Wes,” Xander said. “Poetry club. Something wrong with that?”

“It just doesn't fit … I mean, this is Spike we're talking about.”

Buffy stared at Xander. “You're not wigging that Spike's into poetry?”

“Hey, I've been to the Sunflower. I was prepared.”

“Spike was a poet before he was Turned,” Angel added from the doorway. “Could we got on with this?”

Catalina glanced around the room, apparently looking for more comments, before she went on. “There's nothing to link any of these people – Charlie Adler who took William in, Millay Adler his cousin, or Morgan Teasdale – to the demonic community.”

“Nothing that you've found,” Wesley said.

Catalina shot him a sour look but didn't object to Wesley's input. “They've set up a meeting in supposedly neutral territory, Big Rico's Pizza shop, but Shaba came up with a link between the pizzeria and a local community of R'cathkus demons.”

“Say what demons?”

“R'cathkus,” Wesley said. “A relatively harmless breed.”

“In a mostly harmless kind of what way?” Xander asked.

“They're more pacifistic than humans even. R'cathkus won't attack except to defend themselves. The Council has ignored them for centuries.”

“Except that they're in the middle of this mess.”

“There is that,” Wesley agreed.

“Right. So I'm coming to this meeting.”

Wesley actually winced. 

“What?”

Xander sat up on the couch. “Let's just say you aren't known for your diplomacy.”

You can't punch Xander through the wall. You'll just be making his point. “And I'm fine with that but I'm not sitting here doing nothing while you're meeting with the demons that keep stealing our people.” At least Xander was smart enough not to suggest she help Wesley research those artifacts of his. 

“What about me? It's not like I can go out in the sun.” 

Angel, just get over it. “You can help Wesley with his research,” Buffy snapped.

Leaving the big idiot behind was a blessed relief even if she did get stuck in the back of the van. At least it gave her a chance to chat with Catalina's Slayer squad. “Andrew really has you playing Twister as a training exercise?”

They were there before she could translate the outbreak of babble into a coherent response. Not there as in at the pizza place there, but there as in where they were letting the Slayers off so they could set-up around the building. Once the Slayers were in-place, they went in and, hey, it really was a pizza place. One of the crew looked at them oddly when Xander asked for Big Rico. “We're expected,” Buffy added. 

“In the back.”

There was a party room behind the main dining area, a separate space for birthdays or whatnot. By the door stood one man, Rico presumably, and two women. At the far end of the table, Andrew was scarfing down a pizza. “Hey, Catalina, I think I found us a new supplier. This is like the Magnus Opus of pizza. You have to try some. Rico, could you get her a slice, ham and pineapple, that's her poison. Did you see his logo? No one makes a slice like Big Rico. No one. And it's true! This is amazing.”

“Andrew.”

He grinned up at her. “Hey Buffy.” Then he seemed to figure it out. “Oh, yeah, that kidnapping thing.”

Rico hadn't left to get that slice. At least he seemed to know what was up. In fact, Buffy stared for a moment. “You one of those cat gut demons?”

“R'cathkus,” Catalina corrected. “I can feel it too.”

“Demons? What the hell are you talking about?” That from one of the two women. The other also looked confused.

“You didn't fill them in?”

“I didn't know you'd be Slayers.” The guy's voice was sort of gravely but it could pass for human.

“Andrew didn't let it leak?” That wasn't nice … but, yeah, Xander had a point.

“Look,” one of the women, sort of a geeky hacker looking chick, interrupted. “I don't know what you're on about. What do you know about Will vanishing?”

“Buffy, Catalina, this is Millay. Millay, these are Buffy and Catalina. I don't know the other two but I'm guessing he's Rico,” Xander said.

“Oh, oh,” Andrew came around the table. “This is Mona. We saved her from vampires the other night and she'd never knew they existed before that but then she, uh, kidnapped me but she brought me here, well her and Mr. Rico, and now we've got this excellent new pizza supplier, um, if they aren't evil that is.”

“How do we know we can trust you?” Millay asked.

“They're okay.” 

“Look, Rico, just because the twerp likes your pizza …”

“It's not that.” He obviously didn't want to explain about demons and Slayers. “You've got my word. They're the good guys.”

Both Millay and Mona seemed a bit taken back at that. Apparently Rico's word was a big deal. But, if those two didn't know about demons, they weren't going to be much help finding Spike. “How do we know we can trust you?”

“They're giving me back.” Andrew was practically bouncing up and down. Then he paused and glanced at Rico. “You are giving me back, right?”

At Rico's nod, Buffy said, “Yeah, but that's just because you're …” annoying “Andrew, er- ish.”

“Hey.” Andrew frowned at her. “I think.”

“Millay just wants her friend back,” Rico said. “You must have checked her out by now.” 

“Well, yeah,” Buffy conceded. “So, what do you know?”

“What do you know?” Millay countered.

Xander fielded that one. “Uh, Spike's, I mean Will, he's missing.” 

“That's it?”

Bringing up demons so wasn't going to move this forward. “That's it. You?”

“I left him with Ash. His tracker shut down and he's gone. So is Ash.”

“Tracker?” Catalina asked. “GPS signal? Was it jammed? Maybe I could help you filter out the noise.”

Millay shook her head. “I'm around it. If it was signaling, I'd have found it.”

“Which means what, exactly?”

Which is when Dawn burst into the room. “Buffy, he said I could find Spike but that we'd have to open the Hellmouth for more power so I could scan a bunch of dimensions but I wouldn't even know what to look for.” 

“Huh?”


	34. Pull Out His Eyes, Apologize.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: snake's eye view

“We should stop.”

Will wanted to scream at her, to shout “Stop? But they'll catch us. We need to get out of here.” That, however, was no way to treat a lady. “Of course, if you need a rest.” He glanced around. The tunnel had expanded out into a rough circle about eight feet across but there was no place to sit. “Perhaps if we continue on a bit further, we'll come across a bench.”

Willow's grin told him he'd said something terribly amusing. She sat onto the ground as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Ah, yes, modern women. Didn't play by the old rules and didn't need his help. Most likely she'd have escaped already if she hadn't had him anchoring her down. As he joined her on the ground, he voiced his thoughts. “I suppose you wish Spike were here.”

“Spike? Well, he did have a certain snake's eye view of things.”

Snake? Ah, yes, the shattered glass he'd – his other self – had held to her throat. “Did I, he I mean, did he ever apologize to you?”

“Apologize?” She seemed to have no idea what he was referring to although that seemed unlikely. It had to be dodging her every thought. Would the beast attack again? No, not would, but when would the beat attack again.

“For the bottle. I have a memory of you, or of us I suppose, uh, that is, I … he is holding glass, a broken bottle, to your throat.”

“Oh, I, uh, no, I don't think he ever apologized.”

Which meant Spike hadn't even known he'd done evil. What kind of a monster had he been? For six years Will had regretted his lost memories. What a waste of time that had been. He should have been glad. “For what it's worth, I am sorry. I'd take it back if I could.”

“Oh, I, uh, thank you.”

“I know you'd rather not be here with me. The memories it must bring up. A cad. A snake.”

“Snake? Oh, no, that's not what I meant. It's just that Spike had this sort of low perspective, or, no, not low! Not low at all, but he was sneaky, or, well that sounds bad too. He was just, um, resourceful. He was good at getting out of this kind of situation.”

Not only a cad then but the most worst kind of a cad. The kind of detestable man who could treat a woman with disrespect and be admired for it. “And of course I'm of no use to you. Couldn't get out of the cage. Didn't know how to defeat those creatures tailing us. Froze in the face of that giant worm.”

“But, no, that's not true. I'd have been crushed by that rock if you hadn't pulled me out of the way.”

There was that. He'd managed to do one thing right. He'd saved the girl if only once. Maybe he could do it again. “So, how do you usually get out of these situations?” Situations. Notice the plural there. This nightmare was commonplace to her. “Find an exit? Blow up a building like they do in the movies? Send out a bat-signal?”

“My friends usually help. Or I help them. But if we are in another dimension then I don't know how they're gonna find us. Oh, wait!” She looked around the stoney ground as if she'd lost something. “Oh.” Whatever it was, she hadn't found it.

“What is it?”

“Well, from your comment about the bat-signal, I thought if I had my cell phone then I could sort of boost the signal but I lost my bag. I think it's still back in the cafe. You don't, maybe, have your cell on you, do you?”

“Nope. My cell was missing when I woke up in this place.”

“Oh.”

“But I might have …”

“What?”

He stood to go through his pockets. “Ah, here we are.” 

“What is it?” Willow stood to get a better look although he didn't see how that would help. It looked like an ordinary piece of plastic to him. 

“A GPS trackable chip. From Millay. Ah, a friend of mine.”

“Your friends use GPS to track you?”

“I was on my way to see that Harris guy and she was worried. I, well, not to say that I distrusted your friend or anything.”

“No, no, that's okay. I get it. Stranger says he knows you. Caution's not a bad thing.”

He held the chip out to her. “I don't suppose you can do anything with it?”

“Actually, yeah,” she said as she took it from him.

She held her two hands out before herself, the left hand under the right and the chip laying on top. Will couldn't place the tongue she was chanting in, which was odd in and of itself. Over the past six years, as he'd try to work out who he'd been before the amnesia, Will'd figured out that he knew a hell of a lot of languages, smatterings in most of them, words related to cops and criminals largely but also a good number of swear words. It was almost as surprising as learning he had a scholar's knowledge of both Latin and Greek. 

When the chip started glowing, it casted an eerie light up along Willow's face. It took Will's breath away. Beautiful. How had she suddenly become beautiful? He saw a flash of a dark-haired beauty, her face lit from below, as Willow's was, but by candlelight. “You naughty boy.” She, whomever she'd been, had been pleased with him based on her tone if not her words. Another flash, Willow, her hair short, curved above her neck, sitting at the far edge of a bed. She'd looked upset but not I'm being threatened with a broken bottle upset. “I know I'm not the kind of girl … . It's always like, "ooh, you're like a sister to me," or, "oh, you're such a good friend,” she'd said. And he'd replied. “Don't be ridiculous. I'd bite you in a heartbeat.” Bite you? What kind of talk was that? 

“What is it?” she said. 

“Huh? The light from the chip was fading. “Oh, uh, nothing. Nothing.” He looked around. They were still alone. “So, what now?”

“We get moving.”

“I thought that chip or spell or whatever was supposed to call the cavalry.”

“If they go looking for us … When they go looking for us, I mean. I boosted the power and marked it with my sigil. When they look, they should see it, but we should still get moving, see if we can find a way out on our own.”

In a cave far from where the two had been speaking, a wizened hand waved across a scrying pool, removing the images that the Three Sisters had been viewing. “The Shanshu's memories are returning. One more push and he will become what we need him to be.”


	35. Extra-Curricular

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Taming the Muse prompt: coltish

For all that Andrew's office was lined with walls of books, it didn't even come close to all the Watchery tomes held by the LA branch, which Andrew called the League of Extraordinary Watchers. At first Buffy had tried to squelch the name because it was far too long to say each time. Andrew and Xander had gotten it down to the League as a nickname although Buffy was still holding out for LA branch even though pretty much everyone else was fine with calling it the League. But back to the books. They took up an entire building. Buffy couldn't quite work out how anyone found the ancient tome or scroll or whatnot they were looking up. Granted modern books were hooked into the Dewey Decimal System but none of the tomes piled high on table or cart had call numbers. Not that she had to worry about finding the books. Andrew had a team of Slayers working on the research although it was sort of a mystery how a girl with seven piercings – and that was only her face – could stare at a book so long without going bonkers. Still it made a nice change from Giles expecting her to stare at dry and dusties, tomes that is, without pulling her own hair out except Andrew's approach sort of left her with nothing to do while everyone else was getting all extra-curricular. 

Buffy grabbed another donut. She could be sleeping, but that'd put her in with Angel who wasn't sleeping at all but brooding, which would sort of end with her strangling him. That'd be okay except it wouldn't do any good. Strangulation was no way to kill a vampire. She leaned over Andrew's shoulder and he winced as a sprinkle or two, okay or maybe more than two, fell on his sacred ancient tome. “Maybe,” he said as he brushed the sprinkles onto a napkin, “you could evaluate one of our squads.”

One of the tables, granted not a table with books on it, was piled high with bagels, donuts, coffee, and orange juice. If Andrew was so concerned with his books, why'd he bring breakfast into the library? “Do your Slayers even patrol during the day?”

“Well, no,” Andrew conceded. “Demons do tend to be creatures of the night, sort of like Elvira except without the slinky dresses, or no, some of them do wear slinky dresses. There was this vampyress one night a few months back …”

“Andrew.” That was Zin, the Slayer with all the piercings. At least they were willing to shut down their Watchers even if they did go in for too much reading.

Andrew glanced at the Slayers. “All that pacing you're doing, it's distracting my girls.Maybe you could inspect their quarters sort of like in Galaxy Quest when Commander Taggart inspects the barrack, which are infinite, they sort of go on forever, and all the crew stands and salutes as he enters except the Slayers won't salute you as a group, even if you make it an order.”

Buffy figured that if the Slayers could still research while Andrew was babbling on, they pretty much wouldn't even be distracted by, say, a ten foot dragon rampaging through the library although maybe that would get their attention because dragons breathed fire and that would damage the books. “Your Slayers bunk in barracks?”

“Um, no. At first they were two to three in a room here or at the Hyperion but some of them have been moving out and getting places of their own although some of the girls do still bunk together but it's more because they want to now, which is a totally valid choice and not something I should even have an opinion on, not that I would voice one to say that they shouldn't be roomies or, you know, something even closer because that wasn't even what I'd been trying to say …”

Which is when Wesley burst through the doors and straight into a cart. He almost knocked it over as he fell but then he let go, apparently deciding his bones were worth less than a bunch of moldy old books which some days, yeah, Buffy agreed with but not on all days, and she certainly was never going to voice how clumsy he was. Just because she'd once called him coltish, there'd been no reason for Fred to get her warrior on and totally rampage over how the world coltish had connotations that meant undisciplined and incompetent which Wesley totally wasn't. Buffy had just meant he tended to knock things over. Stupid Word of the Day calendar. 

Wesley rose to his feet and didn't even bother dusting his clothes, which meant it was something big, biggy-big. “They're gone.”

“Gone?”

“The artifacts.”

“The ones we brought with us?” Buffy asked. “The artifacts to Shanshu a vampire and use him to end the world? Those artifacts?”

“What other artifacts would I be bringing up?” Wesley certainly did have that Watchery disdain down. “One of the scrolls, written in a language related to proto-Mon-Khmer, mentioned something about an artifact that could cause a human's soul to scream in madness with a demon's tongue. Some of the linguistic markings led me to believe it could possibly refer to a Shanshued vampire. The scroll mentioned signs on an icon, markings which I believe match those on one of the artifacts we took from those demons in Rome. I went to the safe to compare the markings in the scroll to those on the artifact but something hit me from behind. When I woke, the artifacts were gone.”

“Gone?” Andrew asked. He was so nervous that, if Buffy hadn't known better, she'd have thought he'd never gone through an apocalypse before. “As in whatever's got them could be using them to end the world already?”

“Do we know how the ritual works?” Buffy asked.

“Not yet,” Zin replied as Wesley shook his head.

“So we don't know how to stop it other than just barge in and stop it.”

“Assuming we could find the ritual,” Wesley confirmed. 

“Zin, get me some of your witchy Slayers over to the safe and see what energies they can pick up.” 

“On it.” 

As Zin vanished down the hall, Buffy felt like breathing a sigh of relief. At last, something she could do.


	36. Sword Play

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Taming Prompt: flashback

Their path dead-ended in an armory. Not guns, demons didn't use them, or the axes they'd seen the demons carrying, but swords. As far as Willow could tell, they were sort of your everyday go-to sword, or a Slayer's version of that anyway, swords with slightly curved single edge. “At least we've got our choice of weapons.”

Will glanced about the room but didn't take a sword. “I don't like it. We should go back, take another turning, before they …”

And there was that chittering noise again, real close. “Too late.” Willow grabbed the nearest sword and tossed it to Will. 

He cringed back and it clattered to the floor. He picked it up and held it out in front of him, with both hands, as if it were a big stick. “You know how to use one of these things?”

“I've got my magic.”

The look he gave her said he still didn't believe in magic. “Shit, we're dead.”

“Spike was good with a sword, well, with any kind of fighting.”

He raised the sword up and brought it down with an awkward chop. “Too bad he's not here then.”

The demons swarmed in and they didn't look as bug-like as Will seemed to think they did. It was just that their arms and legs were really thin, to thin to be human, and that's probably what made Will talk of bugs when he saw them. When the demon blocked Will's swing with its axe, the sword fell to the ground. Willow shot out a bolt of magic. It wasn't the greatest defense because each bolt took energy. Maybe she should have learned to swing a sword at some point. The demon dropped but then the others swarmed all around her as if she were the target rather than Will, which didn't really make sense unless they thought her magic was a threat, which it damn well was. She zapped another but it raised a shield and the magic bounced off. It was odd, though, they weren't really attacking so much as surrounding her. 

“Red.” The shout was in Will's voice, but the word was Spike's no matter what Will had said earlier. Two of the demons fell before his sword and the others lowered their shields as they turned to attack Spike or Will or whomever he was. She zapped three of them while he took out the fourth. He flashed a grin at her. “Right handy you are in a fight, luv.”

He'd been pretty handy himself. Swinging the sword like that. She could see what Buffy had seen in him. “Spike?”

The sword clattered against the floor. His face went pale. Not as pale as when he'd been a vampire, but a lot of the color drained away. “Oh God, spikes, blood. Shit, children … I did … to kids?” Oh, flashbacks or maybe his memories were returning. It seemed like an odd time but if he could fight again, she wasn't going to complain. But then he dropped to the floor and scrunched up over himself with his face down between his knees and his arms curled around his head. And then he screamed. It sounded like a siren, rising in intensity and pitch, but it never came down again. His soul seemed to be pouring out in a long, drawn-out keening. Bad, this was very, very bad. 

“Spike. Spike!” His screams weren't letting up. If she didn't stop him he'd draw more of those demons down on them. “Spike!” She yanked his arms until he was sitting up and wished she hadn't. Tears were streaking down his face. “Spike, you have to stop or the demons'll find us again.”

“Good. Let 'em kill me.”

“Spike, I know what you're going through.”

“Bloody hell, bugger off woman.”

“I do. After Tara was killed … Do you remember Tara? She was shot and I sort of snapped. I went after the guy who'd killed her. Spike, I skinned him alive. Used my magic to rip his skin right off.”

Spike turned away from her and puked against the wall. Okay, maybe not the best approach. As he turned back, he wiped the puke from his mouth. “You've got to kill me.”

“What? No. You can get through this. You've done it before. I mean, yeah, you went a bit crazy but …”

He pulled open his shirt and popping buttons flew into the wall. Oh, and, wow. He might be human but he'd kept his abs just as tight … 

“Kill me. Stake, right through the heart.”

“What? I don't have a stake. And no, I'm not killing you.”

“Have to. This is what the demons wanted. My memories back. Now they can rain down fire and lay waste to the land.”

What? “Oh, you mean they couldn't use you in the apocalypse ritual until you had your memories back? I wonder what kind of ritual …”

“Red. Luv. Kill me.”

“No, I'm not killing you. We're going to escape and kill the baddies because that's what we do.”

“I'm bad, Willow. Wasn't kidding when I called myself the big bad. Kill me. Now. Before it's too late.”

And then it was too late. Demons swarmed into the room so fast Spike barely had enough time to grab his sword before Willow was swept away as if by a roaring river. It sounded like he'd cried out something about dying with a sword in his hand, but she couldn't be sure. She found herself smashed up against the rocky walls of the cave, her arms held still and a hand over her mouth so she couldn't cast a spell. One of the demons raised an axe and started swinging it around.

“No!”

As if halted by Spike's shout, the axe stopped just an inch or two shy of her throat. 

Spike dropped his sword. Oh, bad idea. Bad, bad idea. “I'll come peaceful like. Just don't hurt her.” Damn, Spike had been right. They should have died before letting these demons use him to call down an apocalypse.

The demons let her go and Willow fell to the floor. Spike rushed over to help her up and the demons started chittering. “Bug off. I'm not going without her.” She let him drag her back to her feet. “You alright, luv?”

Willow winked at him. “Give her some room,” he called out. “Come on, let's get this over with.” As they walked down the endless tunnels, Willow made a big production of needing Spike's support although she tried not to lean on him any more than she had to for appearances sake. If they were going to get out of this, they'd each need all the energy they could muster.


	37. The Sunnydale Crater

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Anthomancy

Big Rico had refused to join them at the Sunnydale crater. “I have a business to run.” Mona, who'd never been afraid of anything as far as Millay could tell, had begged off as well citing some kind of an attack. William was still missing and yet they couldn't be bothered. In his place, Rico had sent Cassie, whom he claimed as a cousin although Millay couldn't see the relationship. Where Rico was dark and, well, huge, Missy's tiny frame – Rico claimed she was in her twenties but she could have been sixteen as far as Millay could tell – was topped by reddish-blonde curls. At least the girl was practical enough to wear jeans and sneakers, but even so Millay would have felt a lot more comfortable with Rico at her back. The thought must have shown on her face because Rico rested a meaty palm on her shoulder, in what Millay was certain was supposed to be a reassuring gesture, and said, “They're good folk. You're friend'll be safe in their hands.”

Morgan had worn shit-kicking boots himself but he was so busy being rebuffed by one of Buffy's girls – “Hi, you work out, don't you. I could spot you some time.” – that Millay didn't expect he'd be any help if it came down to a fight. 

Sue Ellen, who'd apparently bonded with Buffy on the ride to the crater, was wearing a set of heels that Millay wouldn't have worn across a flat surface much less in sand. Their maroon tinge matched both her nails and her lips. “Now don't you worry, sugar. I once wrestled a gator in these pumps.” That Millay almost did believe. While wrestling an alligator, she wouldn't have been standing. Sue Ellen walked off with Buffy, the big dumb guy, some Brit she had with her, an all the girls who hadn't rushed straight for the side of the crater. Buffy seemed to be sending them off so they surrounded the group. 

Everyone seemed to think that Dawn, who apparently should have been across the country at college, was key to getting William back. Millay didn't know how that was supposed to work but she was sticking to the girl's side all the same. Cassie, instead of joining the rest of Buffy's crew, a bunch of girls who were now scattering and forming a circle around everyone else, was sticking close to either Millay herself, Dawn, or Xander. Or maybe she just wanted to stay close to the cars. Millay wasn't quite sure, but then Cassie walked about ten feet closer to the crater and squatted down by the side of the road. Dawn followed after. Millay and Xander shrugged at each other and joined them as well.

“What'd you find?” Dawn was asking as she and Xander caught up.

“Henbane,” Cassie replied. She was next to a patch of plants, a pretty large patch actually, about two feet high, whose yellowish flowers had purple veins. 

Millay leaned over to get a closer look and quickly backed away, waving her hand in front of her face. “God, that stinks.”

“It only grows where there's great evil.”

Couldn't Rico have sent a sane cousin? “Say what?”

“According to the science of anthomancy, henbane indicates evil underfoot.”

“That stuff?” Xander's surprise seemed to suggest he believed her. “But it grew all over the place in Sunnydale.” After a pause, he added, “Oh.” 

“But we closed the Hellmouth.” Millay didn't bother asking Dawn what a Hellmouth was supposed to be. These people lived in a reality tunnel that made even Discordians look sane. 

“The gate can be closed.” Oh, great, and now Cassie was pulling out all the mojo tricks, talking in some sort of odd echoing voice. “But the evil remains, dormant, ever-present, patient, waiting for their time to come again just as winter follows summer, so does arrive in the night.”

“Great,” Xander replied. “So you're saying there are some Turok Han still down there.”

“I don't know what, only that evil remains.”

“Closed,” Dawn said. “The Hellmouth was closed.”

“Energies still leak through,” Cassie replied. 

“Think we should tell Buffy?” Dawn asked.

Xander shook his head. “I'm pretty sure she's ready for about anything.” He nodded toward the group closest to the crater. “Besides, I think they're ready.”

The group of five girls that Morgan had been hanging with had set up a stone table by the side of the crater. There were two large candles standing at the center of the table and four surrounding it, one in each direction. “What's all this?” Millay asked even though she had a sinking feeling that she knew. These people thought some kind of neo-Pagan ritual was going to bring William back? Millay was so going to kick Rico's ass for telling her she could trust these crazies. 

“They are creating a sacred space for the spell to open the Hellmouth,” Cassie replied. Right, of course crazy-cousin knew what was going down, unless she was making that shit up. “It's especially important that we have a zone of safety in the midst of this great evil.”

Four of the girls took positions around the altar and the fifth stood in the center. Millay expected they'd chant but instead they sang, in a language she didn't recognize. Cassie, on the other hand, seemed to be able to translate. “They are singing for the stones, preparing them for the great work.”

“Stones?” Millay looked around and saw sand, vegetation, road, crater, and rubble. No stones unless you counted the rubble.

“This type of gateway always uses stones to delineate the portal.”

Oh, right. Gateway. Of course.

“And now they sing for the land, which has been tainted by evil and must be purified if we are to avoid being overwhelmed by darkness.”

Finally they switched to English. “Let the way be open,” the four girls chanted.

The woman at the center called out, “Let the way be open.” Actually she shouted it, or it sort of sounded like shouting given how well her voice carried, and she shouted it three times, not just once.

Nothing happened. Of course nothing happened but Buffy's crew and Rico's friend all seemed surprised. “Uh, did we forget to light a candle or something?” Xander asked.

The woman at the center, the one who'd been leading the ritual, turned, not to Buffy but to the Brit. Wesley or at least that's what Millay thought his name was. “What went wrong?” the girl asked.

“I'm not sure. Ah, perhaps … ah, I don't know.”

“It needs blood, man.” 

It was Webb in that same Agnostic Front t-shirt he always had on. Millay had bets on with about a half-dozen people in her apartment building that he had dozens of those shirts hidden away somewhere. “Webb?” What was he doing here? How had he gotten here? She hadn't noticed him on the trip up.

He gave Millay a wave but didn't take his eyes off of Dawn. “The blood is the life, or no, not the life but the way. The way and the truth and the life.”

Buffy was between Webb and Dawn. Millay hadn't seen her move but she'd been off to one side and now she wasn't. “You are not cutting my sister.”

“Oh, hey, I don't have to do it. Anyone can.”

“Nobody is killing Dawn.”

Webb? Buffy thought Webb wanted to kill Dawn? Webb was the most harmless person Millay had ever met.

“Whoa, whoa, who said anything about killing? It just needs a couple of drops.”

“A few drops that'll let a Hell God lose?” Xander shouted from the side. “I don't think so buddy.”

“How exactly is Dawn's blood …” Wes trailed off under Buffy's glare. “I was merely requesting clarification.”

“It's not just her blood,” Webb said.

“Right, viscera too?” My, that Xander guy was snarky. 

Blue lights appeared, twinking in the sky above the crowd. Webb pointed up to them. “The guides, man, they'll provide the focus to open the Hellmouth.”

As Wesley stepped forward, Millay thought that she'd never seen anyone's jaw drop to the floor before. 

“Wes?” Buffy asked. “What are they? Should I kill them?”

“Spirit guides,” Wesley said. “And no, please don't attack. They're benevolent beings of the highest order.”

“Benevolent meaning white hats?” Xander asked.

“Very much so.”

“If they're white hats,” Buffy started as Dawn piped in with, “What do I do?”

“No.” Buffy spoke only the one word but Millay didn't see how anyone could have the power to ignore the strength behind it.

“It's the only way to get Spike and Willow back. I'm doing it.” Except it seemed that Dawn did have exactly that kind of power. She turned to Webb. “So I just cut myself and let the blood hit the ground? Where? On the altar? In the crater?”

Webb picked one of the henbane flowers and set it on the altar. “Into the mouth,” he said.

The flower didn't look at all mouthlike but as Dawn cut herself and let the blood drip into the open area between the petals, the earth shook below their feet. Great, perfect time for a quake. 

“Incoming.” That came from one of the Slayers posted near the crater.

Figures rose out of the rubble. They were too many too count but Millay guessed about fifty. At first, taking in their bald heads, she thought of Uncle Fester but then the came closer. The first time Millay had seen Nosferatu, she'd had nightmares for weeks. These creatures looked like they'd give Nosferatu nightmares. As she took a step back, she was Morgan scrambling back to the cars. Buffy and her team stepped forward. Millay didn't like the odds. A dozen girls against four times their number? 

“What are they?” The voice sounded panicked, as if someone was about to start screaming. Millay looked around and realized it was her voice. 

“Oh shit,” Xander said. “Turok-Han.”


	38. Turok-Han

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Taming the Muse prompt: Snowflake(s)
> 
> After I posted the last chapter, I was asked how the Turok-Han could be out in daylight. Ooops. Going back and fixing.
> 
> [Quark](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Quark_%28TV_series%29). I loved this for the short time it was on. 
> 
> [Sue Ellen's yell](http://www.smithsonianmag.com/videos/category/3play_1/what-did-the-rebel-yell-sound-like/?no-ist)
> 
> [The Dukes of Hazzard](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Dukes_of_Hazzard)

First an ancient punk rocker appeared out of nowhere and placed one of those 'this is a sign of evil' flowers on the altar, and then Dawn cut herself and let the blood drip into the mouth of that selfsame flower. This could only lead to badness. Combining blood and any kind of mouth was a bad idea at the mouth of Hell. 

And there it was. Sunny skies gave way to clouds in the blink of an eye. “Oh, come on,” Xander said as the first flake hit him. “The last time we had snowflakes, Angel's life was saved.”

“Unlife,” Dawn piped in.

“Whatever.”

“And what's wrong with saving Angel?” Xander had to admire how Buffy avoided the whole life vs. unlife wording in her response.

“One, I don't like him. Two, he's not here so we don't need snow to save him. Three, we just opened a Hellmouth. Anything that reduces the amount of sunshine? Bad.”

As if to prove his point, Maria shouted from the edge of the crater. “Incoming.”

Only the little strawberry-blonde, some friend of a friend of Spike's as far as Xander could tell, didn't run for the edge of the crater.”You'd think,” Xander said, “that some of us would have learned to run from danger by now.”

“What are they?” That came from Spike's friend, Millay, who had out-geeked Andrew by correctly naming plant-guy in some short-lived bit of fluff called Quark. Okay, and she was looking a tad green around the gills.

Xander glanced down into the crater. “Oh, shit. Turok-Han.” Fifty of them, possibly more than. 

“This is it.” And there it was, what he loved Buffy for. She stepped in and got the job done. “Dawn, Xan, Wes, you three get the civilians into a van and get out of here.”

Spike's friend Morgan was already trekking for the truck as fast as his little shit-eater boots could carry him. 

“What?” Xander winced but it was too late to cover his ears. They'd already been damaged by Dawn's high-pitched shriek. “I'm not leaving. You need me here to scan for Spike.”

“Which you can't do if you're dead. Go.”

“No.”

Time to intervene before Buffy decided to kill her sister rather than the super-vamps. “Dawnie, how about we at least head toward the vans? Just to give the Slayers room to work.”

As one of the Turok-Han hissed, Dawn relented. “Okay, but just as far as the vans.”

“Yee haw!” Okay, and it seemed Spike's friend Sue Ellen, for all that her manicure would have left Cordelia green with envy, was a Duke's of Hazzard fan. 

“Come on,” Xander shouted.

“You go on, boys,” she called back with a grin. “I'm in this fight.”

“You know how to kill these things?” Buffy asked.

“I could use a few tips.”

Buffy tossed over a stake. “Aim for the heart.”

Dawn turned to the old guy in the Agnostic Front t-shirt. “Okay, Mr. Webb. You should come with us.”

“Oh, no way, man. I'm good.” As he threw a ninja star – and how come Xander never got to throw ninja stars? – a Turok-Han went up in dust. The star was back in his hand or maybe one just like it. “Blessed by the spirit guides,” Webb explained. With a growl, the all Turok-Han charged. “Oh, sorry ma'am. I didn't mean to rile them up so soon.”

“We had to fight them sooner or later,” Buffy shouted back.

Xander grabbed Millay by the arm. “You're coming with us at least.” 

She took one look at the violence and ran the other way. Good girl. Not only cute and geeky, but also smart.

Turok-Han crested the edge of the crater like a dark wave of death. And, okay, he'd been hanging with Andrew far too often it that was the first metaphor his brain came up with. 

Sue Ellen leaped into the fray with a yell that sounded rather bird-like, not chirpy but more in the cry of an eagle or hawk range. She stabbed for the heart but before she'd made contact the Turok-Han had lashed out, tossing her twenty feet back. Xander ran forward, thinking he'd have to drag her to the van, but she got up to her feet again with stake still in hand. And, okay, note to self, possible unidentified Slayer. Have that checked out, assuming they lived.

Webb seemed to be holding his own, taking out the demons at a fairly good clip, but it looked like demons had picked up on that. “Look out,” Xander shouted as five of the Turok-Han charged Webb. Before the guy could get another throw in, he'd vanished under all that black, but then two of the Turok-Han puffed to dust, one after the other, and Webb was standing about ten feet from where the demons had rushed him. Oh, yeah, Webb had appeared out of nowhere earlier. Apparently he had some kind of teleportation deal going on. 

The rest of the Slayers were tossing the Scythe between them, kicking ass but it wasn't enough. The Turok-Han were advancing. When Patti went for one armed only with her stake, its claws reached around her and twisted. Shit, she was down. 

And Izzy was in trouble. As one of the Turok-Han had advanced, she'd fallen. What the hell? Had she twisted her ankle in the sand? She raised her stake defiantly but there was no way … moving so fast Xander couldn't tell where she'd come from, Yakone grabbed the demon from behind, yanking him back as Izzy's sweeping kick knocked his legs out from under him. As the Turok-Han hit the ground, Maria fell on him with her stake. “Yes!” And Xander didn't care what anyone might say, jumping up and down and squealing with Dawn was in no way undignified or unmanly. 

“Does anyone else think those three have some sort of a Hive Mind thing going on?”

“What? No, Slayer's are just …” As Xander turned, he saw what Millay meant. The three Slayers – Izzy, Yakone, and Maria – were fighting as a unit Nobody, not even Slayers, worked that well together. It looked like their minds were working as one. “Giles definitely needs to give Andrew a bonus for coming up with this.”

“How are they doing that?” Wes seemed as dumbfounded as Xander felt. Well, good, at least he wasn't the only one caught off guard. 

“Some training Andrew came up with.” Xander explained as much as he could, which wasn't much now that he thought of it. If he was going to be in charge in LA, he'd have to keep better track of what Andrew got up to.

“Oooh, Twister?” Dawn asked. “I'd heard it had done some kind of mind mergey thing on them. Looks cooler than I'd imagined.”

“At least we won't have to flee for our lives.” And Wes was right. The three-for-the-price-of-one-Slayer had turned the tide of battle. Between them, the Scythe, and that Webb guy, the Turok-Han didn't stand a chance.

“Okay,” Buffy called out after the last Turok-Han had been dusted. “Let's get this search over and done with.”

“Before anything else weird happens,” Millay muttered.

Xander grabbed Millay by both arms. “No. What were you thinking? You've just jinxed us.”

She pulled out of his grip. “Jinxes don't exist.”

“After what you just saw,” Dawn said, “do you really want to say anything can't exist?”

Millay scanned the battlefield. “I don't know what I …” Xander followed her gaze. She was staring at the dead Slayer. “… saw.”


	39. The End of the World As We Know It

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: expunge

The insectoid guards had led them through so many tunnels that Willow had stopped worrying about what they'd find at the end. Spike's arm around her waist was warm, warmer than she'd expected. Granted, he was human now, but where he touched her was a lot more tingly than she'd thought it would be. It felt sort of nice actually. If they were going to die, at least she'd have a good memory to carry with her, but of course they weren't going to die because being defeated here would mean a big old apocalypse and she just didn't let that kind of thing happen even if she didn't know how she and Spike were going to stop it. She didn't know yet, which is why she and Spike were touching, pretending she was more hurt than she actually was so the demons would underestimate her and leave an opening for her to work with. Not that they had gotten careless. Yet. 

When she risked a glance, Willow found Spike staring at her. He looked worried. That was an act, that had to be an act, right? It was odd, seeing someone so concerned for her. No one had been, not in a very long time. Maybe odd wasn't the right word. Maybe disconcerting? As she looked down to stare at the floor, Willow wondered if she should even call him Spike. He'd been William for six years. Maybe he'd prefer to still be William. He certainly wasn't the recently resouled Spike she remembered from the fight with the First. That Spike had been fragile, almost broken. This, um, Spike? William? He seemed more ready and able to jump into the fray.

“Should have killed me while we had the chance.” The bug guards either didn't hear his whispered words or didn't care, and, okay, maybe he wasn't completely non-fragile. 

“They wouldn't have killed you,” Willow reminded him. “They need you for the ritual.”

“Which is why I should be dead.”

“Then I'd be dead too and I'm not ready to give up hope.” Since he'd given into the guards just to save her, he couldn't argue with that. And maybe she would call him Spike. He didn't seem to mind the name and, as plans went, giving up when the guards threatened her was a really bad one, which is sort of like Spike's plans in general. So, Spike it was. 

As they were led into a cavern, he jerked his head to indicate the hundreds of demons rushing about. “Odds are against us.” 

He had a point. The cavern towered above them and extended out a good quarter mile. It was full of demons, all busy and purposeful, which just couldn't be good. The demons made way, creating a path, as the insect-like guards led Willow and Spike through. As they passed, Willow saw that some of them didn't even seem to be demons at all. Some of them looked human, although that didn't necessarily mean that they were human. That made three different kinds of creatures: the bug-like guards, the thin as sticks demons with the white mask-like faces, and the maybe humans. They might still all be the same kind of demons. Some species were like that, having vastly different appearance based on gender or function. Not that it mattered. They were all obviously working toward the same purpose, which was apocalypsey. That was the thing she had to keep in mind. 

They were stopped at the foot of a large dais. The three thrones each held a demon of the thin as sticks and wearing white masks variety. At least Willow thought they were masks. She really wasn't sure. They looked more mask-like than face-like and they sort of floated there under the hoods of the robes but they seemed to be anchored at the eyes. At the foot of the dais stood a half-dozen of what were probably demon courtiers. Spike was staring at one, glaring at might be a more appropriate term. “Give me one good reason not to break your neck.”

The woman, one of the human-looking might-be-demons, blanched at Spike's words but didn't speak. She looked vaguely familiar but she hadn't been wearing a robe when Willow had met her. Oh, of course, Ash from The Sunflower. The woman? demon? who'd drugged Willow and brought her here. 

“The Shanshu”

“is in”

“our grasp.” The three demons on the thrones spoke, splitting the sentence up between them. 

“Now is the time”

“of our great”

“return.”

“Now the killing fields”

“open”

“before us.”

“Now”

“the worlds”

“converge.”

Okay, and that didn't sound at all apocalypstic. 

“Kill the girl.” The command, spoken by one of the throned demons, sounded like more of an afterthought than anything else, and, hey, they didn't get to kill her as an afterthought.

Spike pulled Willow in front of himself, wrapping his arms around Willow as if that would protect her and, actually, it wasn't a bad strategy. The demons wanted him alive. They weren't going to risk killing him just to get at her.

“No.” The eyes of the three demons on the dais turned on Ash. She trembled before them but spoke anyway. “The witch holds the Shanshu's memories. If she is destroyed, his memories may be expunged, lost forever with her.”

The three on the dais didn't move but Willow had the feeling they were debating amongst themselves. After a few minutes, one spoke, directing Ash. “Bind her to your will.”

“Ash, don't.” Spike called out.

Two of the guards grabbed Spike and pulled him off of Willow. Ash stepped forward and her hands glowed with raw power. As she touched Willow, the yellow golden light twisted and turned into cords, ropes, chains that wrapped themselves around Willow, binding her power. It would have been fascinating, Willow had never seen magic like this, but it was blocking her own power. Willow could feel her magic beating against the bonds like the wings of a bird beating against hands holding it still. Willow struggled against the bonds as ineffectively as Spike struggled against the two guards holding him. But she did notice one thing: a cord of power ran from Ash to the chains binding Willow. This wasn't a spell that could be set and left alone. Ash was maintaining it. If she were distracted, the spell binding Willow's magic would weaken. 

“If she escapes her binding,” one of the Three told Ash, “you will be fed to the dr'grasith.” Okay, and Willow didn't know what a dr'grasith was, but based on Ash's face, not a good thing, not a good thing at all, and maybe Willow should feel bad about that but, apocalypse! It wasn't her job to save this might be a human who'd sided with demons. 

“Told you,” Spike said. “Should have killed me.”

At a nod from the three demons, the guards let Spike go. Willow slipped back into his arm and, okay, she'd sort of lost the I'm injured pretense when Spike had been pulled off of her, but she felt safer with one arm wrapped around Spike's waist and maybe he felt a little better too because he at least stood a bit taller. And anyway, she had to tell him. As the guards led them to a cage at the far end of the room, Willow whispered, “Ash is using her own power to bind my magic. If she's distracted enough, I think I'll get my power back.”

“Oh, I'll distract her alright.”


	40. Dramatic Backdrop

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: - enharmonic intervals

The guards stopped shy of the cage, leading them to a dais instead. The raised circle was about ten feet across and ran only a few inches up from the ground. “What do you suppose this is for?” Willow asked.

Nothing good, Spike thought. “Don't think the sacrifice is going down here.”

“Huh? Why not?”

“No altar for one thing.” Demonic rituals, well the kind that ended the world, tended to require a dramatic backdrop. Sure, Angelus had invoked Acathala at the mansion but the Slayer'd had him on the run, even if he hadn't been willing to admit it. If Angelus' had the time, he'd have hunted up a suitable monastery, or more likely nunnery given Angelus' proclivities, for the ritual. 

“But, there must be some reason we're here, right? I mean, they could have put us in the cage.”

“Yeah, they want us here for a reason. Just don't know what.”

They both quieted down as demons, the ones with the masked faces and robes that looked like they were made out of bark, formed a circle around the dais. Willow ducked, just a bit, as they all sang out the same note. “D Flat,” Willow identified.

“More like C#, love.”

Willow tilted her head as if that would give her a better look inside his mind. “They're the same note. It's called enharmonic intervals. That's the two notes that are the same pitch but can be written out differently depending on their key.”

Trust Willow to back up her assertion with a lesson. “What instrument did you study as a girl?'

“Piano?”

“Yeah, and on the piano, C# and D Flat are the same note, but not on, say, a viola. Stringed and wind instruments, as well as voices,” he said with a nod toward the demons, “can play out subtle differences between the two notes.”

As half the demons continued to sing C#, the other half of the chorus shifted to F. Oh yeah, this was bad. 

“Is that important?”

“Think it means they're moving us.”

“Um, Spike, what would singing have to do with moving us?”

“Some demons identify different dimensions musically, as different chords. Once they get the full chord going and add a bit of magic, we're on our way someplace else.”

“Like, wherever they're going to do that Shanshu ritual, the one that merges all the dimensions together?”

“Exactly like,” Spike agreed. “Which means its time for our great escape.”

The demons, a quarter of them it sounded like, added G# into the mix. 

“Great escape?”

“Can't let 'em use me, love. Besides, if I'm gonna go out, I'd rather take ferryman's fee with me.”

“Oh, right.” She was so brave, realizing they'd have to die to stop the ritual but trying not to show it. “Uh, Spike, I think escaping's going to be a problem.”

“Huh?”

“I can't move my feet.” 

“Shit.” His feet were glued to the ground. 

As another quarter of the demons started singing B, a whole slew of demons – including those three bitches who seemed to be in control as well as Ash – joined them on the dais. Definitely not good. 

There was a sharp moment when Spike wished his stomach wasn't empty so he could puke and then they were under sunny skies. As the screaming started, Spike looked around to see people running, away fortunately enough for them, and a handful of demonic soldiers chopping into cars with their axes. It certainly added to the chaos but Spike figured they'd have the space cleared soon enough. He turned around to take in the backdrop.

“Dramatic enough for you?” Willow asked. 

Spike stared up at the red pagoda, the dragon carved into the wooden facade, the two heavenly dogs to each side, and the dragon silhouettes along the sides of the copper roof. He looked down to the handprints and fooprints sunken in the cement and saw he was standing right by Danny Thomas'. 

Grauman's Chinese Theater. Yep, that'd do it.


	41. Demonic Runes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since the last chapter was confusing, in this chapter I'm giving exposition on the enharmonic interval chord dimension hopping. Just a bit to, hopefully, clear up any confusion. 
> 
> Taming Prompt: Termites

The Etruscan runic system is a branching of the B'shtok family of demonic alphabets. Runes, especially demonic runes, had never been Wesley's strong point, as this one particular scroll was proving. He was most definitely, however, not muttering out loud, no matter what Andrew said on the subject. “The lowly worm, no, the lesser worm? Ah, no, this modifier makes it, ah, what? Man. The man. Right. And the greater lord, the high being, oh, demon, and this modified speaks of the two of them as one. The man and the demon made one, possibly a vampire. Ah, temple, house, no, it's a verbal form, so, ah dwell in one shell. One body, man and demon, vampire is looking like a correct translation. And this is obviously ritual of sacrifice. That's demon again and the other is body. Ah, fled, abandoned, left desolate, destroyed? Removed it's blessing. I supposed from a demonic point of view, possession would be seen as a blessing. Best guess the demon has been cast out of the body. Ah, which would make it a shanshued vampire. Next is, hmmm, unknowing, innocent, possibly naive. Ah, and this is definitely sin, full of sin. Only one who is naive but also full of sin. And the next? Great divide, doorway, gate and it is opened, shattered, broken, no it's still functional so not broken per se.”

 

“Do termites eat paper?”

 

Wesley, already used to Andrew's distractions, stretched as he sat up from his book. “What?”

 

“Termites, I was wondering if they eat paper, because I thought I saw some, termites that is and not books, flying, possibly mating to set up a nest, but I was told they were ants. I'm not so sure they were ants and I'm worried about the library. What would we do if they ate all our books?”

 

Ah, and this actually was a valid concern. “Call a pest control company.”

 

“But what if they are ants?”

 

“Presumably you don't want ants either,” Wesley replied. “Now, please, let me get back to my work.”

 

“You've been translating that particular scroll for twenty minutes and all you've got is that a shanshued vampire will be the sacrifice in some sort of ritual that opens the gateway between worlds. We already knew that.”

 

“We don't know that he's the sacrifice.”

 

Andrew pointed to the scroll, indicating a specific rune. “That means lamb, in this context, a sacrificial lamb.”

 

Wesley searched through _The Dictionary of Demonic Symbols_ , reading through a half a dozen symbols before he realized Andrew was right. “How did you know that?”

 

Andrew glared at one of the dozen Slayers who were each busy searching through prophecies written in human tongues. “I had to find a new language for my private journal because somebody taught herself Klingon.”

 

“You've been watching me struggle with this for the past three hours and hadn't bothered to tell me that you can read demonic runes as easily as you could read Latin?”

 

“Uh, I can't read Latin.”

 

Wesley handed him the scroll. “Go on then.”

 

“Okay, in the abode of the great lady, so that's a temple, those who dwell up high, above maybe?, in the eyes of others, stood as beasts on all fours to immortalize or maybe share their glory. Oh, that's Mann's Chinese Theater.”

 

“That's what?” 

 

“Mann's Chinese Theater?” Andrew asked. “It used to be Grauman's Chinese Theater but there was a name change …”

 

“I don't care about any name change,” Wesley interrupted. “How did you get from that,” he pointed to the scroll, “to a Chinese anything?”

 

“He does that,” one of the Slayers, Zin might be her name?, said. “We're not sure how, but he's usually right.”

 

“It's obvious,” Andrew said. “Dwelling above in the eyes of others? That'd be fame or celebrity, right? And standing on all fours to immortalize their glory, well that's leaving their hand and footprints in the cement. Only one place it could be.”

 

“I see.” Huge intuitional leap but it did make sense. “Go on.”

 

“Fire descends or pours or flows from the cup, or maybe that's grail, of the moon. This bit here is the eye of god.” Andrew pointed out a specific rune. “I think it's sort of like Thor but I don't see how a reference to Thor would make sense in a demon's scroll.”

 

“It's a more ancient and demonic god-form but there is an association. This rune does refer to a god of thunder and lightning.” 

 

“But Thor's a good guy.”

 

Wesley pulled off his glasses and started polishing them. “This isn't Thor. It's a demonic deity associated with lightning. The symbols may be similar but it's not the same entity.”

 

“Oh, sort of how like Batman from the original tv show and Batman the Dark Knight have the same …”

 

“Could we get back to the task at hand?”

 

“Okay, so I think this grail of the moon is that silver artifact you brought from Rome.”

 

The two artifacts had been left in an alcove at the far end of the library. The first was a flatish bowl, silver. It had been worked so that its surface appeared to be covered by dozens of shallow waves. The second artifact, made of iron, consisted of two circles, shaped rather like wheels, one inside the other, connected by what were probably jagged lightning bolts. The inner wheel circumscribed two lines that split the area into four equal spaces. 

 

“Yes,” Wesley agreed. “And the other artifact could certainly be described as the eye of Thor, or of a lightning deity that is.” Wesley hastily added that last bit to avoid an argument about Thor's lack of evil qualities. 

 

“So there's fire in that silver grail-like thing, and wasn't the Grail a cup because that's not looking very cup-like.”

 

Wesley held back a sigh. “There are differing descriptions of the Holy Grail, including cup, platter, and emerald. A silver bowl is well with the range of a grail.”

 

“Oh. Okay. There's fire in the grail and it's being poured onto … Wouldn't that hurt? Having fire in that grail I mean because the grail's metal and fire and metal are generally a pretty ouchy combination.” 

 

Wesley closed his eyes. Oh, this was going to be fun. “The Fire is blood.”

 

“Blood?” Andrew asked, “Why would fire be blood? I mean, if I was going to associate anything with blood, it'd be water or ketchup or tomato soup or maybe the insides of those little pizza rolls but that'd be more viscera-like than bloody.”

 

“It's an ancient association,” Wesley explained. “If the fire is being poured, we can assume it's blood.” 

 

Andrew stared as if Wesley had grown a second head, but he but did continue. “So the Shanshu's blood is poured from the silver bowl onto the eye of the God – who is definitely not Thor – and then …” As the sound of a single chord filled the room, Andrew stopped and looked around. “Where is that coming from?”

 

Wesley leaped to his feet. “The artifacts!” Five of the Slayers threw themselves toward the demons. 

 

Four demons, with robes so bark-like that they looked for all the world like trees, wearing white masks popped into the library next to the alcove. They grabbed the artifacts, shifted to a different note, and vanished before the Slayers could reach them.

 

“What was that?” Andrew asked. 

 

“Zin is it?” Wesley asked the Slayer-in-charge. “Get two squads together. Meet us out front with a couple of vans. We need to get to Grauman's Chinese Theater before the demons can complete their ritual. Oh, and have someone call Xander. Fill him in. Unfortunately I don't believe Buffy can make it back in time, but they should know what's happening in case we fail.”

 

“And someone grab me a sword,” Wesley called out to the Slayers and they vanished out the door. 

 

Wesley grabbed the scroll and a notepad. “I'll want you to finish translating this on the way.”

 

“Sure,” Andrew said as he ran after Wesley. “But could you tell me what that singing stuff was?”

 

“It's how some demons travel between dimensions. Different chords map to different locations.”

 

“Oh, sort of like the Stargate – if you get the symbols right you can return to Earth – but with musical notes instead of symbols?”

 

Wesley pushed through the front door of the Academy. The vans weren't there yet. “Actually that's not a bad analogy. A specific set of notes brought those demons to Earth, to our library. Another set took them either to a demon realm or directly to the theater.”

 

When Andrew spoke, his words dropped out slowly, as if he were working out the corollary . “So, they could be killing Spike right now?” 

 

As a van full of Slayers screeched to a halt at the curb, Wesley replied. “If they are, we may already be too late.”


	42. Kill the Witch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Taming Prompt: crank call

One one side they had Mann's Chinese theater providing the most dramatic ritual backdrop ever. On the other side demon soldiers were clearing the street by chopping axes into cars. “So,” Willow said, “this is pretty much the crankiest of all crank calls ever, right? I mean dialing into a dimension to end all the dimensions, that's definitely not of the good.”

“Not even close,” Spike agreed. 

“Did you notice that we can move our feet now?”

And gosh, Spike's stare felt like it was burning right through her. He carefully picked up each foot and gave her a grin that really did explain why Buffy had fallen for him. “Brilliant you are, love.” 

“End this farce. Kill the witch.” Okay, and maybe she should have pointed that out sooner so they could have made their move before they became the center of attention. Oh, and one of the three in-charge demons handed Ash, who was Spike's friend, or probably not friend anymore since she was on the side of the demons, and anyway that would have been William's friend because he hadn't had Spike's memories when he was friends with her, and, okay, that was a really sharp dagger she had. What with both edges being sharp and all, Willow figured it'd be really useful for cutting into people. 

Spike reached out, grabbed a spear, and twisted it somehow so that the demon holding it fell to the ground. Oh, good, maybe they could fight their way out. Spike threw the spear to her. Or maybe, if they could have fought their way out, they wouldn't have been captured in the first place. “What am I supposed to do with this?”

He grinned at her and, well, at least he already had another spear to hand. “You've been doing this how long? You expected Will, back in the caves, to handle a sword with no training. You've got to be at least as good with a spear as he was with a sword.”

“Spike! He was terrible with the sword. He dropped it when I tossed it to him.”

“Oh.” Spike's face fell. “Yeah.” He grabbed her by the wrist. “Come on, then.” They ran and they must have had surprise on their side because they made it as far as one of the damaged cars. Spike put her against the car and stood, spear at the ready, between her and the demon soldiers. 

“Come on, then.” This time the words were directed to the demons, and, hey!, Spike really was good with a spear. He was holding them off but there were too many. Willow was pretty sure he couldn't hold off hundreds, but maybe he didn't have to. The car was no go; an ax had chopped clear through the engine, but Willow thought she could get underneath and wiggle her way to the other side. Then if Spike could work his way around, they could try to put some distance between themselves and the demons. 

“Willow, take up your spear.”

Huh? Oh, she did still have the spear he'd tossed her. That was pretty impressive, what with the running and all. Did he have a plan? Some way for them both to get away?

“I want you to kill me.”

“What? No, bad plan, very bad plan.”

“They can't merge the universes if I'm dead. Kill me.”

Oh, yeah. Willow blinked away her tears. She couldn't do it if she couldn't see him.

“Enough,” shouted one of the three demons in charge. 

Willow found herself frozen, not just her feet this time but all her limbs, arms and legs not responding at all. Pretty much all she could do was turn her head to see that Spike had also been caught up in the freeze 'em spell. “I'm sorry. I should have been faster.”

“A'handru,” one of the three said. “Perform your duty.” Willow didn't know who this A'handru was supposed to be but Ash, the girl with the big and sharp knife, came toward her. 

“Ash, no,” Spike shouted. “If you were ever my friend, let Willow live.”

“Kill her,” the second of the three commanded.

“His despair must be complete,” the third added. “He must know that he and he alone brought his companion to this death.” 

“Spike,” Willow shouted. “It's not your fault. Whatever they do, it's not on you.” He didn't look like he believed her. Ash stood right before her, and oh boy did that knife look sharp.


	43. Finding Spike

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rereading previous chapters, I noticed some glitches:
> 
>   1. Wes is both researching in LA and at the Sunnydale crater at the same time 
>   2. The two demon artifacts - and there was only one when first found in Rome - were stolen twice. 
> 


The desert was hot in a hotty hot way, but at least the vamps were dusted. And Buffy wasn't even going to ask how the Turok Han had survived sunlight. They were history and she still had an apocalypse to deal with. Moving on. “Okay, Dawn. You're up.”

“Me? But …” Buffy crossed her arms as Dawn took a deep breath. “Right. Uh, what do I do?”

“What do you mean, what do you do? You know what you do. That's why we brought you, because you're the only one who can do what you do.” Right, and that didn't sound completely idiotic. “You sort of use the Hellmouth and make it show you where Spike is.”

“You can do it, Dawnster.” Hey, no fair, Xander being more encouraging than her. “It's just like riding a bike except that this is something you've never done before. Uh, doesn't it run on instinct or something?”

That's when the woman that the big guy, Rico?, had dumped on them, the little strawberry blonde, piped up. Cassie was her name, maybe? “It is instinctual. I can lead you through it.”

“Well, Cassie …” Dawn started. Yes! I knew her name was Cassie.

“A girl is dead, Will is missing, and you people are laying out a scrying bowl? How the hell is this supposed to help?” That came from Spike's, well no, not Spike's, Will's friend, Millay, who looked so geeky that even high-school Willow would seem cool in comparison, which was a comment Buffy was never, ever going to share with Willow.

“Hey,” Xander lay a hand on Millay's shoulder. And look at Xan getting touchy-feely with the new girl. Note to self: after this is over, have someone check if Millay is a demon. “None of us are forgetting that Patti's gone but we've got the end of the world to prevent. We will grieve, but later.”

“End of the world?”

“You saw the vamps, right? How they dusted as they died?”

“Well, yeah,” Millay conceded. “That was different.” 

“Trust us,” Xan said. “We know what we're doing. We're just sort of experts in fields outside the ordinary. Look, if this doesn't work, you can totally take it out on me.”

“What, by piping Narn opera into your room?”

And given the googly eyes that Xander was making at Millay, that had to be a mega-geeky reference. 

Cassie pulled Dawn to the ground before the scrying bowl. “Just stare into the bowl. Your true nature will do the rest.”

As Dawn was getting comfortable on the ground, Xander's cell went off. “I'm just your average ordinary everyday superhero. Nothing more than that, it's all I really am.” Xander backed off, moving out of hearing range, as Dawn glared up at him.

“If you know so much about scrying,” Dawn asked Cassie, “why can't you do this?”

“My powers are tied to this realm. Your nature partakes of all the realms. Only you can search them all.”

“Oh.” Dawn leaned back over the bowl. “I'm seeing … water, water and a bowl.”

“Power follows will. You have to want to see into the different realms.”

The water started bubbling and, okay, it was hot out here in the desert, but not that hot. “Oh, here we go.” Dawn sounded excited so something must be working but all Buffy would see was a bowlful of water. “Ugh, green scales and red eyes? I'd hate to meet one of those in a dark alley. Oh, and ewww, I don't even want to know what that is.”

“Think of Willow,” Cassie said. “And Spike. Look for him.”

“Right, Spike. Ugh, that's one damned creepy demon.” 

Buffy coughed.

“Buffy, I'm in college. I can say damned if I want to.”

“Just get on with it.”

“Well, I can't tell if that's its face or just a mask. I mean, it doesn't look like it comes off but it's pretty mask-like and if the mask is that disturbing, I'd hate to see what's behind it. There's a bunch of stick-bugs, sort of like praying mantises – mantisi? – that can walk on two feet and they're wearing armor and carrying weapons so I'm going with demons here. Oh, and there's Spike and there's Willow too!”

“Great,” Buffy said. “Two questions: where are they and how do we get to them?”

“Okay,” Cassie said. “Keep you eyes on the scryed image but also think of this realm. You will get a sense of the distance between them. It might come to you as an image or a chord or even a scent.”

Buffy waited a couple of minutes. “Dawn?”

“I'm not getting it,” Dawn shouted. “There's nothing saying where that dimension is.”

What was it Willy had said? “They have to come back here for the ritual! Could they be here already? In this dimension?”

“But, I thought they'd be at the Hellmouth.”

“I got him.” Millay was holding some sort of electronic device. “GPS signal's working again. Will's signal. It's coming from lat, 34.0259346 and lon, -118.4751398, which is … Mann's Chinese Theater. LA. They're in LA.”

“What?” Buffy asked, “as in they're taking in a show?”

Xander snapped his cell shut as he joined the circle around Dawn. “The ritual, it's going down at Mann's Chinese Theater. Wes has a team on the way but with LA traffic, even at mid-morning, they're not gonna make it in time.”

“How do we get me to LA?” Buffy asked. “You, witches, give me a lift?”

The witchy Slayers looked at each other like she was going to eat them up or something. Finally one stepped, or was really shoved, forward. “I'm sorry, ma'am, but we don't have that kind of power.”

“Also, we'll need them here,” Cassie said. “To close the Hellmouth.”

Hellmouth open vs. all the dimensions running together. Great, not one but two apocalypses – apocalypsi?. “Right, Xander? How do you feel about speeding?”

“I can teleport.”

Huh? Creepy hippy guy, the one who'd kidnapped Dawn which had turned out to be totally unnecessary since Spike was back in this dimension anyway. “No offense but …” Wait, what was she saying? He'd kidnapped Dawn. She had no problem offending him. “I don't know you.”

“It's the only way you'll get there in time to save the realms.” Okay, and add Cassie to the glaring-at list.

“I don't know you either.” No other options. “Okay, uh, dude. We'll take …”

“It's Webb,” Dawn said. 

Web? As in a spider? “Huh?”

“His name is Webb.”

“I'll take you and your three,” Webb said.

My three? “My three what?”

Webb pointed to those three Slayers of Andrew's, the girls who'd fought together as a unit. Great, so either he really did want to save the day or he was taking out her best fighters.

“What do you need me to do?” Xander asked.

Find me a better way to LA. “Make sure the Hellmouth gets closed. See that they do it right this time.” Oh, and that raised a good question. Buffy turned to the witches. “You do know how to close a Hellmouth, right?” And why hadn't she asked that before they'd opened it?

“Wesley gave us instructions.” Okay, as long as those instructions hadn't come from Andrew, they should be fine.

“We should get going,” Webb said.

Wow, and that was fast. Mann's Chinese Theater, hundreds of those praying mantis demons, and boy Dawn's description really hadn't brought home how creepy they were, and then … Spike! And Willow! And some woman aiming a sword at Willow's chest.


	44. Fight. Fight. Fight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Taming the Muse prompt: Feculent  
> Possibly only three more chapters after this one.

If there was anything Willow hated, it was being frozen in place as the big scary came at her with a weapon, and, okay, the woman, Ash, wasn't all that scary and she certainly wasn't very big, but she did have a sharp-looking dagger aimed straight at Willow's chest. “Have you really thought this whole stabbing idea through, because as a lifestyle choice, major carnage isn't as satisfying as you might think.” 

Ash stopped and winked at her which, okay, she would be sort of attractive if she wasn't holding that dagger but did she really think this was a good time to flirt? And then Ash turned the dagger on herself and stabbed into her own stomach doing one of those circular hara-kiri deals. The first thing to hit Willow was a whiff of a feculent stench and why did the body do that? You think, you know, dignity in death or something would keep the bowels shut tight. The second thing to hit Willow was that Ash's magic was all that had been holding them frozen. She tested it, checking for freedom of movement by wiggling her fingers. “Spike, we can move. Come on.”

At least they still had the spears they'd been fighting with when they'd been frozen. Before the demon bug guards could figure out what was up, Willow had the car door open and was dragging Spike through. Good, there was a car between them and the demons at least, although that wasn't going to do much good given how many demons there were. 

“Willow, you've got to kill me.”

“What? No, we've been over this. No dying on my watch, and besides I can get us out of here.”

“Yeah, and they'll just keep coming, won't they? Only thing to stop this is my death.”

“No,” Willow said. “We can find a way, we always find a way, and anyway, Buffy's here. That's as good as the cavalry, Mister, and don't you forget it.”

Spike looked over and stared at Buffy. Well, that was good, right? He'd had those big feelings for her and, okay, Buffy was with Angel now and, uh, where was the good in this?

“So it's hundreds of demons against you, me, Buffy, three Slayers, and, hey, is that Webb?”

“Web? Like a spider?”

“No, Webb as in the bastard who talked blood at me every time he saw me. Bugger, he knew I'd been a vamp. We are so going to talk when this is all over.”

Oh, and good. At least Spike was past the whole you need to kill me thing, okay and just in time because that hiding on the other side of the car idea? Not so clever that the demons couldn't figure it out. Willow swung her spear around, not really hitting any of the demons but making them jump back, but then one of them sort of flipped his spear and hers was knocked to the ground. Great, just what she needed: death by praying mantis.

Hey, wait a minute. Praying mantis? “Spike, I've got an idea. Keep them off of me a minute.” Okay, she didn't have a recording of bat sonar but she was a big deal in the Wicca department. She could do this. 

*scrreeeeeeeeeee* Hey, it worked, at least on the closest demons. Oh, but it looked like Buffy could use some help. Time to pump up the volume: *scrreeeeeeeeeee* 

“Could you not do that?” Spike shouted.

“Sort of have to keep it up,” Willow shouted back. “At least until the bugs are dead.”

“Right then. For sanity and silence, let's get this done.” Spike and the four Slayers were tearing through the bug demons at a good pace but those weren't the only demons. There weren't many of the white mask, tree-bark wearing demons but they had magic. Willow just hoped she could hold them off long enough for the Slayers to work their way through the rest of the guards. Okay, and maybe she'd just jinxed herself because those three sister demons turned on her and, damn but they were powerful. 

“Buffy, those three, if they get through my shields I won't be able to keep the bat sonar spell going.”

“And that's a problem?” Spike shouted as Buffy threw herself at the demons. And then she went flying back a good hundred feet. Oh, right, powerful magics. At least Buffy got to her feet again. And, okay, shields starting to be a problem, but then the three other Slayers leaped at the three demons and the demon magic didn't seem to work on them – and what was up with that? – and apparently the three sister demons didn't have much in the way of fighting skills because the Slayers made mincemeat out of them. The rest of the white mask demons vanished, leaving only the demon bug guards, still disabled by Willow's spell, behind. 

Oh, and hey, a couple of vans full of Slayers. They didn't seem to like the bat sonar anymore than Spike did but they sure did make short work out of the remaining demons. Wesley and Andrew made their way out of the van more slowly. Willow could see Angel, hiding from the sun in the back of the van, protected by the necrotizing glass. Why'd he even come, anyway, if he couldn't help? 

Andrew seemed to be acting as some sort of cheerleader for the Slayers as Wesley ignored them completely. “Do you know where the artifacts are?”

“Uh, artifacts?” Hey, she'd been in a demon dungeon for weeks, well weeks on her end and only days here but still, how was she supposed to know anything about artifacts? “The demons in charge were over there.” 

She raced over after Wesley. He picked up two things, which Willow guessed were the artifacts. One seemed to be made of iron and looked like an eye, a pupil quartered by two lines and zigzags in the white part sort of making it a really red eye. The other was a shallow platter, silver, with a wave-like pattern on the outer surface. 

A tap on the shoulder about sent Willow careening into the air. “Spike!”

“Sorry, Red. It's just, demons are dead. Can turn off the racket now.”

“Oh, okay.” Ah, silence. That did sound better.

Wesley glanced around as if only noticing the bat sonar by its absence. “We need to destroy these artifacts. Living flame should do it, but I don't have the supplies with me. According to Andrew there's a magical supply shop about a dozen blocks that way.”

“Right,” Spike said. “Let's get this done before something else comes along and tries to use me to end the world.”


	45. Thirteen Moons

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Cheerful

They'd driven to the magic shop. Of course driving was faster, but that wasn't the real reason they'd taken the car. The things Angel had said he do if they left him behind, well, Willow hadn't even known you could do that with a leg, even if it was detached.

 

If anyone had asked, Willow would have bet Andrew could ramble on just about the name of the shop during the entire ride over. She'd have won. “It's called Thirteen Moons,but there's only one moon on the sign, and I asked because you'd think there'd be thirteen moons on the sign since that's what the name of the shop is, but they said that thirteen moons really wouldn't fit on the sign and that, you know, the sign would have to be huge to show all thirteen moons, and so I said that maybe they could call the shop Full Moon but that might get confusing because werewolves come out on the full moon and you wouldn't want to attract werewolves to the shop. So I thought maybe New Moon because the whole Pagan renaissance is sort of this new thing so it would reflect the rebirth of the old beliefs …”

 

Even before the car had stopped moving, Angel jumped out and, covered by a blanket against the sunlight, raced for the door. Wesley and Andrew followed pretty quickly but Spike stood there in the sunlight. It sort of looked like he was just letting it soak in. He certainly wasn't rubbing in Angel's lack of Shanshu no matter what Angel was saying or at least Willow didn't think he was. Spike seemed sort of sad, as if he were saying goodbye. “Hey, this'll work. We'll get rid of the artifacts and then there'll be no demons after you.”

 

“Thanks, Red.” He didn't look reassured but before Willow could come up with something that might convince him, Spike picked up her hand and kissed it. Boy, it was a lot, um, tinglier than she would have expected, you know, if she'd been expecting it. Willow stood there, staring as he walked into the shop. Once inside, he turned and asked if she was coming.

 

“So, this shop is awfully, um …” The shop was full of crystals and, okay, indium nitride did make a pretty crystal, and it had some interesting physical properties, but magically it was something of a wash. Plus, there were unicorn and fairy statues all over the place. Willow couldn't see unicorns without thinking of Harmony, who'd never been very magical, not in a real magic kind of a way. “Are we sure we're going to find all the supplies we need here?” Hey, all of those incense cones were synthetic. “Or even any of the supplies we need?”

 

The assistant walking up to them, wearing a Punjabi suit even though she didn't look Indian, frowned at Willow's comment. Her name tag, the rainbow background vibrant against her pastel outfit, named her as Amber Morningstar. Putting her hands together in a prayer position, she bowed. “Andrew. It's been too long.”

 

Andrew bowed in a quick, jerky motion. “Namaste. We'll need the back room.”

 

“Of course.” She smiled at Andrew as if she didn't find him as annoying as, well, pretty much everyone else did. “Follow me.”

 

As Amber led them past a good dozen customers and through a beaded curtain into the back of the store, Willow still wasn't sure they were going to get what they needed. The room was so small that the six of them barely fit. The shelves along its back wall were full of books that Willow hoped weren't also displayed out front. She was pretty sure not even the new agiest of new agers would buy _The Kitchen Witch's Guide to Your Spice Rack: A Year and a Day's Worth of Magical Recipes_. The sconces on the two side walls each held a fake candle. Willow was about to speak up again when Amber titled one of the sconces and the bookshelves split down the middle and shifted to each side, leaving a doorway in between.

 

The stairs were awfully dark and narrow, but all in all it seemed exactly like the kind of magic shop Andrew might bring them to, which wasn't exactly reassuring, Andrew being Andrew. The climbed down a lot further than Willow had thought they would. She felt as if they'd gone past three or four sub-basements before they came to a door. The room on the other side didn't have that bright cheerful look the upper room had, but it felt a lot more magical. In fact, the dim lighting was reassuring because magical herbs tended to loose their power in a harsher light. The jars down here were much more along the lines of what Willow had been expecting and, ooooh, look, mummy hands shifting about in their jar, and why was it that mummy hands would never keep still?

 

The assistant who approached, a young man of mixed European and Asian descent, didn't wear a nametag. His worn jeans and t-shirt with an image of Leonardo's Vitruvian man and the words “Man Was Meant to Fly” suggested the kind of geek Willow would expect in a real magic shop. “What can we do for you today?”

 

“Hey, Dave,” Andrew replied. “There's a list, uh, somewhere.” Turning to Wesley, he added, “You did bring the list, right?”

 

“I certainly wasn't about to make it out in the car and leave it there.” Oh, and Wesley seemed a bit snippy, but he did hand over the list.

 

“Living Flame. Sure, we can do that.” Wow, that Dave guy sure knew his stuff.

 

As Dave fetched ingredients, Willow moved closer to Spike. “It'll be over soon.” He didn't look reassured exactly, but he did smile back at her. At least he looked less grouchy than Angel who'd been not at all casual when asking, on the drive over, what Spike had done to deserve to Shanshu.

 

Willow wasn't quite sure how Andrew had even heard Angel's complaints over his own babble, but he must have because he seemed to be trying to make Angel feel better. “So, I wouldn't worry, you know, about missing out on the Shanshu and all. I mean, at least this way you still have that whole immortality thing going, never growing old and stuff. I mean, I know I worry that I'll someday lose my appearance of youth, and do you think I'm getting a wrinkle here at the corner of my eye? I've been trying a cream but you can only hold back the decay …”

 

“Andrew.” Even Dave looked up at Angel's shout. The next words were quieter. “Why don't you help Wesley prepare for the ritual?”

 

The only word for how Andrew moved was bounced. Andrew bounced to the table as Wesley glared at Angel who, back in brood mode, pretty much didn't seem to notice. “So, what are these?” Andrew rummaged through a small box and held up something small and dark.

 

Spike relaxed enough to grin. “The heart of a dove.”

 

Andrew yelped and dropped it back into the box. He glared at Spike for a moment, as if it were Spike's fault he'd picked up the heart in the first place, but then Andrew turned back to the table. Picking up a bag of something that glittered, he said, “This looks pretty.”

 

“Yes,” Wesley agreed. “The Seeds of Time are rather decorative.”

 

“Thyme? Oh, that's really good when you're cooking. Just the other week, I was making …”

 

“Time, not thyme.”

 

“I don't get it.” Andrew put the bag down and turned to a bowl full of a milky substance, but before he could poke a finger in, Wesley stopped him with a shout.

 

“The Tears of Eternity are quite sensitive. If you disturb them, the spell will fail.” Apparently Wesley'd had enough of Andrew. “Perhaps you could peruse the tomes.”

 

Andrew's step was a little less bouncy but he moved to the bookshelves willingly enough. “Oooh, the Necronomicon. Is that a real book because I thought it was just part of a story. I was thinking of doing a parody, the Jedi Comic Con. I'd sort of already worked it out but if the Necronomicon is a real book, maybe I should base my parody off of …”

 

“No,” Wesley shouted.

 

“No?”

 

“No.”

 

“Okay.” Andrew moved over a couple of steps, picked up something else, and started reading. Given how much trouble he could have gotten into with the Necronomicon, Willow was sort of surprised nobody was monitoring his reading. She could have gone over herself but, well, Spike needed the support. She wasn't leaving his side.

 

Dave finished laying out the last of the supplies. “You need any help with that?”

 

“I believe we can manage,” Wesley said.

 

“I've made it before,” Angel added.

 

Living Flame was pink in color, rather like the shade of the outfit Amber had been wearing upstairs. It may have been pretty, but it had no effect on either artifact.

 

“You must have made a mistake,” Welsey snapped.

 

“I didn't make it wrong. I've done this before. I know what I'm doing.”

 

“Then why didn't it work?”

 

“I don't know.”

 

Spike's words cut straight through Angel and Wesley's bickering. “Right then. You'll have to kill me.” Even Andrew looked up from his book.

 

“No.” Willow made sure Spike knew exactly what resolve face looked like. “No killing you. We just saved you.”

 

Apparently resolve face didn't work so well on Shanshued ex-vampires. “I died once to save the world.”

 

Willow wanted to say something about having used up his quota, but, well, Buffy had died more than once. “We could just hide the artifacts really, really well.” She didn't need to see Spike's look of scorn to know that wouldn't work.

 

“You death does seem a tad premature. Research may yet turn up a way to destroy the artifacts, or it is still possible that Angel made a mistake.”

 

“There was no mistake.” Spike said it before Angel could. “If there was one thing Angelus was good at, it was magical rituals.”

 

“If Living Flame can't destroy the artifacts, it's unlikely anything else can,” Angel said quietly.

 

“Well, yes, there is that,” Wesley admitted. “But we shouldn't give up hope just yet.”

 

“No, there is another.” Andrew spoke from the far edge of the room.

 

No, we should give up hope?

 

“Another Shanshu?” Angel asked, and boy was he obsessing about that Shanshu.

 

“Another way to destroy the artifact?” Wesley's question made more sense than Angel's.

 

“No, there is another,” Andrew whined.

 

Why would Andrew sound frustrated? Oh, oh. “Star Wars. Obi Wan says 'That boy was our last hope.' and Yoda replies 'No, there is another.' And what would that have to do with not killing Spike?”

 

Andrew brought the book over to the table. “There might be another way. Spike wouldn't have to die and the world wouldn't be in danger, or I'm pretty sure this'd take care of the danger.” He pointed to a line of Aramaic and stared as if waiting for them to get it. “Don't you see? Just make it so Spike's not the Shanshu.”

 

“Turn Spike into a vampire?” Angel's tone suggested he really, really didn't want to put up with vamped Spike for any number of centuries.

 

“You said he wouldn't have to die,” Willow added. “Technically, wouldn't vamping him, or uh vampirizing him, or …”

 

“The word you're looking for is Turn,” Wesley said.

 

“Right, thanks. Technically, wouldn't Turning Spike kill him? As in make him dead?”

 

Spike looked intrigued so, good, at least he was off that kill me meme. “The word you're looking for is Undead.”


	46. When You Have Neither

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note on Title: When you have the facts on your side, argue the facts. When you have the law on your side, argue the law. When you have neither, holler. - Al Gore
> 
> Prompt: Titanic

Millay didn't argue when Xander and Dawn had commandeered one of the vans so they could return to LA immediately. Anything that got her to Will sooner was okay in her book. The Slayers were staying to close the Hell-thingy, assuming there even was a Hell-thingy, but Millay had seen the creatures that had climbed out of the crater. Those monsters would put even Nosferatu to shame. She'd also seen them turn to dust when killed. If Hell-thingys did exist, then the more people making sure they were properly closed the better, but Xander said the Slayers had it covered and that was good enough. Millay might not believe in Hell-thingys and vampires, but she did believe in Will, who might or might not be in LA. If he was, she wanted to be there with him.

By the time they'd driven a half-hour, Millay had tried Will's cell ten times. “Why wouldn't he pick up?”

Dawn, driving, shared a glance with Xander. 

“What?” 

Xander turned around in the front seat to look at her. “You know those Hell dimensions you don't believe in?” 

“I'm not saying I necessarily don't believe,” Millay replied. “I don't have enough data.”

“Yeah, okay, whatever. Well, time can move differently there. Angel was gone once for a whole glorious month only for him it was more like hundreds of years.”

Millay grabbed onto the armrest as the van swerved to the left. Note to self, wear a seat-belt when driving with any of this crew. 

“Hey!” Xander shouted as Millay scrambled to buckle up.

“Sorry. Sorry.” Dawn righted the van. “I just realized Spike could be old, like real old.”

“I suppose.” Xander didn't sound particularly concerned.

Will. Old. Assuming any of this were true. Well, parts of it seemed true but Hell dimensions? That was just too weird. 

“So anyway,” Xander added. “His cell might be out of power.”

“But if he thought to turn it off, then …” Millay thumped her head against the seat. “He wouldn't have thought to turn it back on. He's been a Luddite since day one.”

“Well, yeah,” Dawn chimed in. “If the Spike part of him was suppressed, more than his human memories I mean, then his most recent memories would have been from about a hundred-and-thirty years back.”

So Will, or Spike she supposed, now had over a hundred years of memories that he hadn't even known he was missing. Shit, that just made her head hurt. “I don't suppose there's Tylenol.” 

“Back of the van. Med kit.” 

Millay thought about unbuckling. After that display of bad driving, pain pills could wait. Millay mostly wished Dawn would speed it up. The sooner she was in LA to see that Will was okay, the better. 

The rest of the trip did go by more quickly, largely because Xander suggested they play license plate games to pass the time, find all the different states, working through the alphabet using only letters on the plates, that sort of thing. 

They left the car at the curb outside of the Jenkin's School with Dawn tossing the keys to a girl. A Slayer? Once inside, they followed the sounds of shouting to what was either a small library or a large office. The walls were lined with shelves and books but the desk looked like it belonged in an office. Buffy and the large guy she was shouting at each noticed them but didn't stop quarreling. “You said you didn't want it. You told me you'd be of more help to me as a vampire.” 

Millay took a step back, which left her in the doorway to the room. Vampire? He didn't look like those creatures from the crater. 

“Buffy, the world's at stake. Remember? Apocalypse?”

“This isn't about an apocalypse and you know it.”

“Oh, right, because only your precious Spike is allowed to be a Champion. Is that it?”

“Nuh uh, Angel. You're not distracting me with that. Tell me once and for all. Do you want to Shanshu?”

“Yes.”

Her tone grew cold. It was a lost scarier than the shouting. “Then why did you tell me otherwise?”

The big guy, Angel, was still shouting though. “Because that's what you wanted to hear. You didn't want a husband, someone you could walk in the sunlight with, someone who could possibly father your children …”

“Children? You mean I actually get to be an aunt?” Dawn squealed and ran at them, interrupting the fight. “Wait, Shanshu? How can Angel Shanshu?”

“He can't, or at least he's not going to.”

“You don't get to say what I can or can't do, not when it comes to saving the world.”

Xander motioned Millay out of the room. “They're not going to stop arguing any times soon.”

“Xander, in the van the Slayers said there can be only one Shanshu. Will's it. He's the Shanshu. If he's alive, then how could this Angel become the Shanshu?” Oh Goddess, and now she was acting like she believed it, but maybe that didn't matter. They believed that 'there can be only one' nonsense and they believed Will was that one. Was Will dead?”

“Hey.” Xander rested his hand on her shoulder. “Will's not dead. They'd have told us.” The weight of Xander's hand was comforting, but it didn't reassure her. “Come on, we'll find someone who'll talk.”

They found Andrew in a a library, this one larger than the first, three stories tall. Another man and a bunch of teen girls, Slayers?, were lost in musty old books. Actually Andrew had been reading as well, but he did more than glance up and she followed Xander in. “Hey Xander. Hellmouth closed?”

“We left the Slayers on it. What's this with Angel Shanshuing?”

“Oh, well, that's …”

There was a loud shushing sound from the other man. “We're researching here. Take your chatter outside.”

They stepped into the hall and before Xander had finished closing the door behind them, Millay asked Andrew, “Where's Will?” She didn't care about this Shanshu shit, even if it was real. 

“Willow? Well …”

“No, William. You call him Spike. Where is he? Is he alive?”

“Well, yeah, of course.” Will must be okay. Andrew looked surprised that she'd even asked. “He ran off after Willow. They're arguing about the Shanshu.”

“Who isn't?” Xander asked. “We caught a bit of it from Buffy and Angel. What's up anyway? I thought the Shanshu was a 'there can be only one' deal.”

“Yeah,” Andrew replied, “but it doesn't always have to be the same one.”

“Huh? You lost me there.” Good, at least Xander was as confused as she was. 

“Well, see, if the Shanshu is a vampyre who's recently gotten his soul back, as in got his soul with the Shanshu, which is how you'd actually expect it to go although that's not what happened with Spike, anyway then he'd be sort of unstable, psychologically. The same goes for Spike because even though he's had his soul, he hadn't had his memories until recently so his psyche's unstable sort of like when he first got his soul and he was all crazy only it's not as obvious right now. But Angel, he's had his soul for ages and he's had all his memories all this time so the Shanshu won't mess with his mind.”

“So, you don't want Spike to remember who he was.”

“That would be one fix because then his psyche would be a lot more stable than it is now. I don't think anyone's suggested it thought. Maybe I should fill Wesley in.”

“Oh no you don't.” Xander grabbed Andrew before he could get back into the library. “We still don't know what's going on.”

“But I told you. When we transfer the Shanshu, Spike should keep all his memories, assuming he survives that is but there's a good chance he will, or we think so anyway. Oh, I guess I didn't fill you in on this part. So we can't destroy the artifacts, or at least not yet. So more demons could come and grab Spike and try to end the world but that kind of apocalypse only works if the Shanshu in question has an unstable psyche. So if we did transfer the Shanshu to Angel then the world would be all safe. It's not a complicated spell although we do need titanic metal, and not as in from the shipwreck of the Titanic but as in some kind of alloy of titanium, and I'm not the only one who asked about the Titanic. Buffy did too and I beat her to saying jinx but then everyone started arguing and the whole jinx bit sort of got lost …”

“Wait.” Xander was holding onto his head as if it hurt. “You're saying that Angel, Mr. Broody McBroody, is the most stable vampire we've got?”

Great. Neither of them were making sense and Millay still hadn't seen Will. But, wait, she had her GPS tracker. Ah, quite close. Xander waved but kept talking with Andrew as Millay followed the signal. She made a few wrong turns because the signal didn't take hallways into account, but as she got closer, the shouting led her to him. 

“You want to die.” It was the voice of a woman. Big surprise, that, around here.

“I bloody well do not.” The voice was Will's but he accent and the phrasing were off. “You heard Wes. There's a better than even chance I'll survive.”

“Great. Only a forty-nine percent chance that you'll die.”

Millay peeked through the door. It seemed to be a classroom, biology based on the skeleton at the back. Will was dressed as she'd last seen him although his clothes were much dirtier, as if he'd been living in them for weeks. The woman he was shouting with, a pretty little red-head, was almost as dirty as Will. 

“If I'm the Shanshu, the world's at risk. You know I'm barely holding myself together.”

“Oh yeah, but what if we give the Shanshu to Angel and them someone kills Buffy. Are you saying after that he'd be anything close to stable?”

Will ran his hand through his hair and half-twisted around, enough to see the doorway. “Millay!”

“And don't you throw your girlfriend, even if she is your ex, in my face.”

“No, her, by the door, that's Millay.” He made introductions as he walked over. Even the way he moved seemed different. “Willow, Millay. Millay, Willow. What are you doing here?”

What was she doing here? Really? “Helping save you from a Hell dimension.”

“Oh, that, well, uh … It's complicated. I take it someone filled you in?”

“So it's true?” Millay asked. 

“Most likely. Who'd you talk to? It wasn't Andrew, was it? Because he's not the most reliable …”

“Buffy. Xander. Maria. Yakone.”

“Oh, okay.” He looked a bit astounded. “They'd have given you the straight ticket.”

“Maybe you can convince him to not kill himself,” Willow called out from across the room. 

Will turned back as if Millay wasn't even in the room. Huh, he cared for her then. “It's not killing myself. I went out as a Champion at Sunnydale. If I do die, and that is an if no matter what you seem to think, it'll be the same thing here.”

“You've already given up your life. You shouldn't have to die again.”

“If I do have to die, better to do it passing the Shanshu rather than being killed by some demon using the Shanshu to end the world.”

“Andrew said you could keep the Shanshu if you didn't have your memories.” And what the hell had prompted her to say that?

“What?” They both turned on her.

“Andrew,” Millay explained. “He said if you didn't have your memories, you'd be psychologically stable and the demons couldn't use you that way.”

They both looked stunned for a moment but then Will shook his head. “No, won't work. It was too easy to revive my memories. I'd be even more of a risk than I am now because I wouldn't know to be careful.”

“You see? You do want to die. You're not even considering an alternative.”

“What is this die thing?” Millay asked before they could get going again. “Why would he die?” She addressed Willow, figuring if this had to do with Will dying, she'd get a more honest answer from the woman. 

“Shanshu takes a vampire and makes him human, alive again. If we transfer it, then the original Shanshu, the one who's giving it up, would become dead.”

“Or become a vampire again,” Will added. 

“You don't know what it will do,” Willow accused.

“Neither do you.”

“Hey,” Millay shouted. They turned to stare. “Will, let me talk to her.” He looked like he was about to argue. “William Edmund Pratt.” 

He walked off, shaking his head as he left. 

“So, you're Will's hacker girlfriend, ex-girlfriend.”

“And you're Spike's hacker witch.”

“He told you about me?” Her words ran together quickly, as if she was excited, and then slowed down. “Oh, wait, he couldn't have. He didn't have his memories when he knew you.”

“Two and a half hour trip on the way to the Sunnydale crater. Xander, Dawn, and Buffy filled me in.”

“Oh, that's good. Uh, wait, Dawn? Shouldn't she be in classes on the other side of the continent?” 

“I didn't quite follow that bit. Something about her flipping through dimensions to find Will.”

“Oh.”

Millay hopped up onto the desk at the front of the room. “So, this spell that's going to kill Will. How do we stop it?”

“Oh!” Willow started pacing, quickly walking back and forth, but her gait slowed as she spoke. “We could, uh, that is …” She stood still and stared at Millay without speaking.

“That's the crux right there. You can't stop Will when he knows he's right.” 

“So I just have to go along with it.” Willow sounded bitter and Millay didn't blame her. 

“You like him.”

“Well, we were together for about a week. I mean, I don't like like him, but maybe I pre-like like him? I could be coming to care for him.” She sighed. “Which means I can't control him. Or, uh, not that I would even if I didn't like him, I mean I just can't stop him from risking his life just because I like him.”

“Or maybe you should be brainstorming,” Millay suggested.

“Huh?”

“Andrew said that amnesia would stabilize his psyche. Maybe something else might. It doesn't seem as if you've searched outside the box.”

“Oh. Oh!” Willow jumped to her feet. “Come on.”

“Where?”

“To the library. Research.”


	47. Could It Be Magic

Spike could remember loving Buffy, but he couldn't quite work out why he'd loved her. Looking back, it seemed like an addiction, loving the worst thing for him. Dru had been like that too, not good for him. First off in the killing and turning and then by invoking his jealousy with her Daddy issues. Millay hadn't been bad for him. He'd loved her. They'd had passion with no dysfunction. Maybe that was a human trick, loving well. Maybe he'd forget how to love wisely, if he survived the spell. 

He took a sip of hot chocolate and lost himself in the taste. It wasn't as good as Joyce's, but it might be his last cup. Just as Spike was about to drink again, Andrew bustled into the office with three large bags. After Willow had banished Spike from the ritual room, with some malarkey about him making her nervous, he'd had ended up in Andrew's office with Andrew, Buffy, and Angel. Sending Andrew off for food had seemed like a stroke of genius, if he did say so himself, but now that the smell of blooming onions hit him, the food reminded him, disturbingly, of a last meal. 

“So Spike.” He looked up to see Andrew staring at him adoringly. Oh, right. Brilliant. “What do you think it'll feel like to be free of all karmic restrictions?”

“What are you blathering on about?”

“Once you're a Siddha …” Andrew began.

“A what?”

“A Siddha. It means …”

“I bloody well know what it means. What I don't know is how you think it applies to me.”

“Well, once you give the Shanshu to Angel …” Buffy glanced up at that but apparently thought Andrew wasn't worth paying attention to because she turned back to her ever loving Angel.

“I'll be a vampire,” Spike replied. “Not known for enlightenment. Look at Angel over there, knee deep in karmic connections and looking to make more.”

Buffy glanced back over and stuck out her tongue. “Just for that we're not naming any of them after you.”

“Hey!” Spike sat up straighter in his chair. “What's wrong with William? It's a good name. In fact, you should feel honored to use it considering I'm the reason you'll soon be able to even have kidlets.”

“But.” Andrew, apparently, was still on his role. “Your deed, so noble, so pure, giving up humanity to save the world. Surely there'll be some reward.”

“I've given up my whole life before.”

“And you Shanshued because of it.”

“Andrew, I'm becoming a vampire.” If I don't die. “You've seen 'em. You know what they're like. Drowning in karma, in their passions, anger, vendettas.” 

Andrew, looking more hurt than convinced, started in again. “But …”

The door opened to one of Willow's witchy Slayer apprentices. “It's time.” 

“Oh, uh, right,” Andrew said. “Thank you Diana.”

The ritual room was full of candles, of course. They seemed to be such an integral part of any spell he'd ever seen that Spike wasn't sure you could even perform a working ritual without them. Someone had gotten enough incense burning that the room smelled like church. In the center of the space, they'd laid out a large circle, half of it edged with green sand and half with red sand. Life and death, Spike guessed. 

As Buffy and Andrew followed them into the room, Willow spoke. “It'd be better if we were alone.” Willow merely nodded when Buffy said she wasn't leaving. Well, and yeah, Willow had to have expected that response. “Andrew? Out.”

“But …”

“Out.”

Diana closed the door, leaving Willow, Angel and Buffy, three witchy Slayers, and Spike himself in the ritual space. Willow directed Spike to sit in the green half of the circle and Angel in the red. As soon as they were settled, Willow started into the ritual. “As life grows in death, so does death give way to life.” 

The words Willow chanted were not the original words of the spell. Willow had been so adamant that they modify the spell to protect Spike that she, Wesley, Andrew, and assorted Slayers had spent the better part of the day modifying the language, arguing whether to use death or undeath, life or Shanshu and even whether they should refer to the demonic force that animated a vampire. Spike had stayed to watch. It had been rather nice, seeing one of Buffy's crew standing up for him. For the most part, they'd never cared enough to go out of their way like that, not for him anyway. Willow's insistence had reminded Spike of the friends he'd made as a human: Charlie who'd first taken him in, Millay who'd seen something worth loving, Morgan who'd … okay, Morgan was rather a waste of space, but Joan and her skater pals had gotten him past the security in the Marriott that one time, and Ash had even sacrificed herself for him, or to save the world, or something. Spike figured he was about to go Ash's way but if he didn't, he'd try to live up to his friends' faith in him.

“The seed of life lives in death, and the seed of undeath lives in the Shanshu.” Willow's three assistants circled around with censors, spreading the church smell throughout the room. The chanting went on for so long that Spike figured he'd have grown bored if this one spell wasn't about to change everything. “Heed my will. So mote it be.”

Spike felt the life drain out of himself in one drawn out exhale. Angel gasped for breath. Spike could hear Andrew out in the hallway saying it would all work out and that he was sure it was fine that the ritual was taking so long. The green of Willow's gown shifted into a richness of color that Spike hadn't seen before the fall of Sunnydale. 

With a shout of “Angel!” Buffy ran to the edge of the circle. Spike noted that Angel's side was green now and his red. It was odd, seeing Buffy waiting for Willow's approval before barging into the circle. The girl had certainly matured over the years. “Are you okay?”

Spike rose as Buffy helped Angel to his feet. The git drew Buffy into a drawn-out, dramatic kiss. 

“Thank you, Willow.” Spike called out loudly, making sure his words carried. “Thank you for protecting the world by giving Angel my humanity.”

Buffy and Angel broke from their kiss. Buffy's glare at the interruption could have peeled tar from a roof, but Angel looked abashed. “Uh, yeah,” he said. “Thank you. And Spike, you don't know what this means to me.”

“Think nothing of it,” Spike replied, figuring Angel would never think on it again.

As they all swept out into the hallway, Andrew actually pulled Angel into a hug. It was sort of funny, watching Angel trying to work out how to hug the geek back, but Spike didn't want to stick around to confirm that he himself wasn't hug worthy. He found a bench, out under what could be seen of the stars, and sat staring up into the night sky as he listened to Slayers gossip, train, and fight. 

This had been his life once, helping the Slayer and her cohorts, but Buffy had always mattered more to him than he did to her. Since Sunnydale, during he'd been human, he'd had real friends, people who'd been there when he'd had nothing and been no one. He couldn't go back to being a hanger-on, tolerated as useful but not valued as a friend. 

Spike rose and turned his back on the Slayer's academy. Time to move on.


	48. The Box

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Taming prompt: Slow Suicide

Spike rose and turned his back on the Slayer’s academy. Time to move on. 

“Going off alone, that’s one long, slow suicide.”

Spike stopped and spoke before turning. “Webb.” He started to pat at himself, searching his jacket for cigarettes as he turned. Will hadn’t smoked. Will also hadn’t even remembered much less worn a leather jacket for the past six years. Spike glanced down at WIll’s jeans and sweater, which were grungy after weeks of imprisonment in a dungeon. The flicker of fire from Webb’s lighter highlighted the faded letters on the old t-shirt. “Agnostic Front? Don’t you think it’s time for a new wardrobe?”

Webb brought a joint to his lips, dragged in the smoke, and exhaled before replying. “Always go with the classics, man.”

Spike had meant to hunt down Webb and interrogate him, but hadn’t expected to run across him so soon. No time like the present for finding out what the man had been up to. “Inviting me to Dracula marathons? Asking if I wanted to watch Buckets of Blood? You couldn’t have found a less subtle way to tell me I was an amnesiac shanshued vampire?”

“I had to prepare you, man. The Three Sisters were on your tail. They were gonna use you hard. You needed to know what you were up against.”

Webb held out the joint and Spike thought, “What the hell.” Maybe getting in on Webb’s wavelength would help him follow what the lunatic was saying. “Wouldn’t telling me straight up have been a tad more efficient?” Spike took a drag off the joint.

“I had to get you into the vibe, man.” 

The vibe. Spike handed the joint back. Perhaps Webb’s wavelength wasn’t such a good idea after all. “Vibe?”

Webb toked on the joint. “It’s all about perceptions, what you’re willing to take in. Your mind, it can only accept what you already believe so I had to work on your box.”

“My box?”

“Yeah, you know man, it goes like this: What’s inside the box is known. What’s outside the box is unknown. Who made the box?” 

“Presumably I made the box?”

“Exactly.” The exaltation in Webb’s voice suggested he thought he’d actually explained something.

“And the box meant you couldn’t tell me about vampires.”

“Right, man, they weren’t part of your mental landscape so you weren’t ready to accept them. See, you weren’t ready to believe in vampires, shanshues, and demonic apocalypses. I was trying to open your mind.”

That did make some sort of odd, non-logical sense, but of course it created more questions than it answered, such as Who are you and how did you know I’d shanshued when I didn’t? The answers didn’t seem worth knowing, not when he’d have to work through the vague mire of Webb’s words. “Thanks for that.”

“No problem, man.”

Spike stared as Webb took another toke. The man had completely missed Spike’s sarcasm. “Well, good night then. Good life to you and all that.”

Of course he couldn’t get off that easily. Webb called after him. “It’s a hard road, being alone.”

Spike’s head jerked to one side at the words. When he looked back, Webb was inhaling with obvious enjoyment. Perhaps he hadn’t seen. “I’m not alone. I’ve got friends. Charlie. Millay. Little Joanie and all her skater pals. Morgan. Ash.” Except Ash was dead and those people he’d listed, they were Will’s friends. How were they going to feel about a vampire showing up to claim their friendship?

“Wasn’t talking about you.”

Webb couldn’t be talking about himself. Yeah, the man spent a fair amount of time alone but he never lacked for companionship when he wanted it. There were the cronies with whom he’d originally taken the abandoned building, the one they’d turned it into apartments. He had his movie night gang. Hell, Webb even hung with the skaters, risking his old bones freestyling his board over concrete. Spike could have left. He could have turned his back and walked on, but he had to know. “Who then?”

“The girl.” Webb held the joint out to Spike.

“No thanks. What girl?”

“The girl,” he said as if repeating himself would help. “The little tree.”

Willow? “Red’s fine. She’d got her Scoobie pals and all those junior Slayers and witches to train up.”

Webb just stared like a teacher waiting for him to make a connection.

Spike thought about what Willow had told him down in the dungeons. She’d spoken of traveling to Rio, Paris, and Hong Kong. She’d spoken of moonlight romances on the beach, of clubbing and dancing until dawn. But that life, exciting as it sounded, could be hollow if you didn’t have anyone to share it with. She’d also said, bed-to-bed and lover-to-lover. There was no one, no stable point in her life. She hadn’t said that, but he’d heard it.

“Some people can’t stand being alone.” Webb’s words interrupted Spike’s thoughts. “She thinks she can handle anything, and she can handle a lot, but isolation, no one’s strong enough to handle that load.”

And so Spike returned to the Jenkin’s School for Gifted Girls. He followed the music to a large gym and moved past Andrew who as at the door paying for pizza. Buffy and Angel were nowhere in sight, not a surprise given their interest in generating rugrats. A bunch of Slayerettes were dancing, partying, celebrating. Willow stood near a wall surrounded by another set of Slayerettes who seemed to be listening as she spoke. Spike shook his head. Trust Willow to use a party as a chance to give a lecture. He moved in closer to hear what she was saying. “No, no, no. Calcination is a process of revelation; separation, of choosing.” Yep, she was in teacher mode alright. Even after saving the world, the girl couldn’t resist lecture mode. Spike grabbed her arm and pulled her from the group.

“Hey! I’m busy here.”

The Slayerettes stood as one. “You need help ma’am?”

Oh yeah, they were definitely minions, underlings, and not friends at all. “Can I have a word, Red?”

Willow waved the minions off. “I’m fine. I’m fine. Give us some space, okay?”

The minions didn’t like it, but they did back off. 

“What is it, Spike?”

He couldn’t tell her that she needed a friend. She’d see that outstretched hand as condescension. “Bit loud in here, don’t ya think?”

She didn’t seem to know what to make of that.

“I know a place that makes the best blooming onions in town. Well, it does the nights I’m cooking ‘em. Oh, shit.”

“What?”

“My job. I’ve been gone for weeks, haven’t I? Have to be fired by now.”

“No, no, there was a time differential. It’s only been a day or two here.”

Spike thought about showing up to The Red Fox Tavern after missing two days worth of work, not to mention looking, and smelling, as if he hadn’t bathed in weeks. No, tonight wasn’t about work. He’d cross that bridge tomorrow. “Listen, I know a place that’s got the best Thai in LA. You up for it?”

“But …” Willow gestured back toward the party, the one that she wasn’t a part of. Even if she had to be alone in a crowd, she wanted to stay.

“Here’s the thing. I, I need someone to talk to. Will, he, or I mean me as Will, I had all these people in my life and I don’t know how …” if “… they’re going to take me as a vampire. I need someone who understands. I need a friend.” As do you.

“Oh, right. Sure. Thai sounds fine”

Of course the Slayerettes charged, but Willow calmed them down. As they walked through the gym, Spike had an urge to take her hand but that would say more than he was ready to say. He offered his arm instead and Willow linked hers through his. Together they left the chaos of the party behind as they walked into the comforting darkness, well semi-darkness given the light pollution, of an LA night.


End file.
